Of Black Dogs and White Devils
by V-chan2k6
Summary: Jet goes after Spike to the HQ that day. Once there, he only finds Vicious, barely alive, and Spike is nowhere to be found.
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: All I own are my own original characters, this particular story, and as of now, all of your souls. -.-

Warnings: Violence, minor OCs, and spoilerific...stuff.

A/N: In case you didn't see it above, SPOILERS. Unless you have seen the last two episodes of Cowboy Bebop, begone! Nothing personal, I just don't wanna ruin it for you, ne?

"...speaking..."

_...thinking..._

* * *

Prelude

The day was entirely still, the sky a pale vanilla and the air calm, with an occasional chilling breeze. The birds had yet to make a sound, though they flew through the overcast sky restlessly. The only sounds to drift upon the infrequent gusts of icy wind were the whispers of feathers rustling, and the approaching roar of an engine as a spacecraft rapidly shot through the streets, towards an inconspicuous building surrounded by a rusting metal fence. Flocks of crows fled from the trees at the obtrusive noise, and the trees themselves seemed to shudder as the craft slowed to a stop near the building's entrance.

All remained quiet as the ship's door lowered into a ramp, upsetting the once-motionless dust on the ground. The silence gave way to an uneven _clank_ing as large metal boots and the foot of a crutch made contact with the older metal of the ramp. The owner of the boots hurriedly sent the command to close the door, but then stopped to stare at the building's filthy double-doors hesitantly.

Yet another cold br eeze blew, and the man's fists clenched, one flesh and one metal.

"...Damnit, Spike..." he murmured, eying the fresh corpses of two men that were slumped at either side of the doorway. Splatters of blood stained their clothes and the brick of the walls behind them. Jet closed his eyes a moment, then reopened them and frowned with anxious concern. "...what have you gotten yourself into now?"

With that, he approached the doors as quickly as he was able and crept through them, gun at ready.

Immediately upon entering, the strong odor of blood and bodily fluids attacked Jet's senses, making him wince slightly. There wasn't a single inch of the lower level of the building that didn't reek of death, not a corner without a body strewn across it.

After a quick scan to make sure none of the corpses belonged to Spike, Jet started to ascend the stairs. He couldn't help but glance down as he did so, and he instantly regretted it; there was a tremendous pool of blood slicked upon the steps around the middle. For some reason a chill ran down Jet's spine as he imagined some poor fool collapsing in that very spot; and in his mind's eye, that poor fool appeared identical to Spike. _Don't think that,_ Jet told himself. _There are still plenty of floors to search...whoever died here is gone. Stop distracting yourself. He could be re-enacting that somewhere right now._ That thought returned Jet to reality, and he finished awkwardly climbing the stairway, cursing the bullet-wound in his leg.

The upper levels of the building weren't quite as crowed with the dead and hopelessly wounded as the lower levels. From the smeared red on various sections of the railings, Jet could guess that any of the others who had been up there had met their death not only from bullet wounds, but from the impact of falling over the railing from the top floor. It made Jet shudder just to imagine all the lives that had been destroyed in this very building, such a short time ago.

The sound of his boots clanking against the floor was all that interrupted the silence of the dead. He paid no mind to the sound as he slowly searched the perimeter of the room for even a hint of his comrade, but Spike was nowhere to be found. As he neared the middle of the room, checking bodies briefly before moving on, a thought popped into his head, a longshot of a hope: maybe Spike got away. Maybe he'd managed to kill Vicious and just walk away from it all, maybe..._Vicious_.

Jet stopped abruptly, nea rly tripping over the familiar body sprawled on the floor before him. "Speak of the devil," he muttered, hesitantly and painfully squatting on his heels next to the corpse that had once been Vicious. Something wasn't right. He looked dead. He truly did; but something, something was wrong. Death had not left its mark on him, it seemed. The younger man was wearing all black, so it was hard to tell where the cloth was soaked in blood. A disturbing idea forming in Jet's mind, he subtly held his breath for a brief moment. _...Whoever's out there, if this is your way of trying to teach me something, your sense of humor is worse than...oh God._

Sure enough, over the pounding of his own heart Jet could hear the faint, weak sound of breathing. It was coming from none other than the young man that lay incapacitated before him. Playing dead. By the sound of his breathing he was still conscious, but very weak. Without immediate medical attention, he would die, no question.

His mind racing, Jet took a deep breath. "...You can stop pretending any time now." Vicious didn't respond to the somewhat lame statement. _He's either hurt too badly to respond, or he's as stubborn as Spike,_ Jet mused grimly. "Fine then, keep pretending. All I need to know is whether Spike is alive. I figure you would know, of all people." Jet's voice was cold and closed off; he had no intention of showing this man any more kindness than he deserved. He waited, praying silently that Vicious would know; he was _someone_, and he was very likely the only other living thing in the building.

He got no answer, no reaction whatsoever. He waited a few moments longer with rapidly sinking hopes, then finally let out his breath with chagrin and stood back up to look over the place again, in case he'd missed Spike somewhere. However, once he'd turned his back, he felt an odd chill rattle his spine. He could almost feel the cold eyes that opened into slits and stared after him.

Unable to ignore the feeling, Jet stopped, then turned half around. Just as he'd expected, he found himself staring right back into open eyes, so icy that he almost shuddered. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as the two men stared each other down; then, Vicious' gaze left Jet's, and slowly moved towards the series of staircases that Jet had just ascended.

Jet recognized the almost reluctant gesture at once and immediately felt his heart drop into his stomach. The blood on the stairs..._Spike's_ blood...oh God.

There was a moment of complete silence, tainted only by two barely audible heartbeats, one strong and racing, the other faint and lethargic. Then, very near, there was a sudden crash. It shattered the silence like a stone shatters the finest glass, and nearly made Jet jump out of his skin. Before that could happen, however, he was already facing the sound, gun cocked and ready, mind alert, muscles tense as the...cat?...showed itself from behind the bullet-shredded suitcase it had k nocked over. The cat, a golden orange with faint gray stripes running through its fur, froze for a moment, looking at Jet with wide auburn eyes; then it leapt through a broken window and bolted off.

Jet let out his breath slowly, feeling another chill run through him. Returning to the matter at hand, he glanced back down at where Vicious lay, the dark pool of blood beneath him still spreading at an agonizingly slow pace. Vicious had closed his eyes again, and even as Jet eyed him guardedly, the younger man's lungs heaved, making him cough violently. Blood splattered on the floor in the direction in which he'd turned his head.

Jet found himself torn. This man was dangerous, unstable; he had tried to kill Spike, and nearly succeeded more than once; everything about him seemed to scream of certain death. Yet...he was alive, barely alive, helpless right now, and Jet was a man who placed honor above all else. If he left Vicious here to die, knowing that he could have saved him, Jet knew he would never be able to sleep at night because of it. Furthermore, if Vicious had been lying there this whole time, he might have seen what happened to Spike. His common sense frantically screamed otherwise, momentarily locking him in a minor internal battle, but in the end his conscience won over.

"...Shit," Jet finally exhaled, then turned the rest of the way around and knelt next to Vicious again. Not wanting to even touch the guy, but choking down his reluctance, Jet carefully picked him up. Immediately Vicious' face contorted in obvious agony from the movement; then his eyes opened slightly and he looked at Jet with suspicion, as though he expected to be thrown down the stairs, rather than saved.

"You aren't getting any special treatment," Jet warned. "I'd leave you here to die if it weren't for Spike. Know that." It was only a half-truth, but it was well put. Vicious just barely managed to meet his eyes in acknowledgment before his body gave a violent shudder and he lost consciousness.

As satisfied as he could be, given the situation, Jet took Vicious out to the Hammerhead and lay him down in the backseat, then revved up the motor and rocketed away from the death-reeking building as fast as he could go.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated, and flames will be cheerfully deleted. 


	2. Call Me, Call Me

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. Oh yeah, and from this point on, I also don't own the song names I'm using for each chapter. Still got your souls, though.

Warnings: Violence, minor OCs, and spoilerific...stuff.

* * *

Chapter 1: Call Me, Call Me

Vicious briefly faded into consciousness only once, about halfway through the ride back to the Bebop. His eyes had squeezed tightly shut at the excruciating pangs jolting through every inch of his body; then they had slowly opened, surveying his surroundings with bullet-numbed confusion. When they fell upon Jet at the controls, they sharpened slightly with vague recognition.

Jet must have felt Vicious' eyes on him, for he glanced into the rearview mirror. Their eyes locked for just a moment, long enough to acknowledge each other's existence; then Jet reverted his attention to navigating, leaving Vicious to roll his eyes up towards the dull-toned interior of the aging ship for the last few moments before darkness embraced him once more.

When they reached the Bebop, Jet pulled into the docking bay and climbed out of Hammerhead, wincing slightly when forced to put some weight on his bad leg and quickly pulling out the much-hated walking stick to relieve the strain. As he hobbled around to the back, he quickly scanned the hangar and noted with some letdown that Red Tail was nowhere to be found.

Shaking his head quietly, Jet returned to his task. Reaching into the back, he slipped his hands under the unconscious Vicious' arms and hauled him out with as much care as he could discipline himself to use. That done, he hastily closed the hatch and limped to the door.

Just as he extended an arm to activate the door, however, he heard something from inside that could only be described as a shriek of triumph. Before he could think to react, the door slid open...

...and out of nowhere, ahyperactive blur shot out and slammed right into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Jet just barely regained his balance in time to realize that the blur had latched itself onto his cane-arm—that is to say, it was still extended to open the door—and it was no longer a blur; now it was quite recognizable as a familiar hacker-child whom Jet had never expected to see again.

"JETPERSONJETPERSONJETPERSON!" Ed squealed, her arms and legs clamping firmly around Jet's extended arm and allowing her lightweight little body to hang freely from it.

"Ed...?" Jet murmured, his face betraying his surprise; but Ed only sent him one of her trademark huge grins and gripped his arm more tightly.

Taking his confusion in stride, Ed abruptly gave him a dramatic thumbs-up, her hand close enough to his face that he went cross-eyed for a moment. "Ed learned how to HITCHHIKE!" she proudly responded to his unasked question, wiggling her thumb at him.

After a moment of allowing himself to be mildly horrified at the thought of her hitching rides from God knows what sorts of people, Jet finally let out his breath and awkwardly sidled through the door; the fact that he had Vicious under one arm, Ed hanging from another and a crutch to carry, on top of the fact that his leg was still pretty useless, made it rather difficult.

Once they were inside the ship, Ed finally liberated Jet's arm and dropped to the ground.

Upon seeing Vicious, however, Ed's eyes grew wide. "Oooohhhh..." She leaned in close, until she and the unconscious Dragon were nearly nose-to-nose. She studied him for a second, then jumped back. "New Bebopper! Who's he, Jet-person?"

"No one you need to know. Leave him alone, Ed," Jet warned dismally, setting Vicious down on the couch. Then he went into the bathroom and got the emergency first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet; the dangerous lifestyle of cowboys made a handy first-aid kit practically a requirement, so naturally he owned one. Actually, he had secretly obtained a new one just for when—if—Spike returned from his showdown with Vicious. The pure irony of it all made Jet grimace as he closed the cabinet and took the kit back to the living room.

That settled, Jet took a deep breath and perched on the coffee table in front of the couch. _...For Spike,_ Jet reminded himself, then proceeded.

* * *

A long while later, Jet finally fastened and cut the last bandage. It had blown Jet's mind just how many serious injuries Vicious had. It wasn't just the bullet that made him realize yet again just how dangerous Spike could be. Jet had treated the bullet-wound to the best of his ability; it had gone clean through Vicious very close to his heart, miraculously missing any vital organs. What baffled Jet about that was that from the look of the wound, the shot had been fired in a very close range; yet it had missed. How could Spike _miss_ at that range?

However, the very thought of Spike gave Jet a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he forced the thought out of his mind. Rather than dwelling on it, he merely stood, threw a glance at where Ed had plopped down on the floor nearby with her computer, then grabbed his cane and retreated into the next room.

_

* * *

"Bang."_

Vicious' eyes blinked open, squinting even in the dim, flickering glow of the overhead lamp. At first he had no idea where he was; a rapid, deafening pounding in his ears made it impossible to think. Closing his eyes briefly, he willed his heart to slow and his body to ease out of its suddenly taut state; already, every breath felt like he was being ripped apart inside.

Trying to keep his breathing even but shallow, he allowed the brief moments of consciousness that he did remember to play over in his mind. As the somewhat abstract images gradually evened out and flowed together more smoothly, his swift pulse and ruptured breathing followed suit.

Once he'd managed to relax his muscles for the most part, he slowly reopened his eyes and allowed himself to take in his surroundings, from the chipping paint on the walls, to the cheap television set nearby, to the strange, scrawny child who contentedly typed on a laptop...with her toes...a few feet away. Inevitably, the latter kept his interest a bit longer than the other two.

As if the child could sense his eyes on her, she leisurely clasped her hands behind her head and leaned far back, looking at him upside-down and fixing her catlike yellow eyes with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"...HI-HI!" she suddenly burst out cheerfully, making Vicious flinch in spite of himself. Raising a slender arm, she pointed to herself. "Edward is Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth!" Vicious stared at her oddly, to which she responded by staring right back.

After a moment, she abruptly moved her pointing finger from herself to Vicious. "Ed knows you!" she declared. "Youuuuuu are friend of Spike-person!"

Instinctively his every muscle tensed, which almost made him want to cry out in agony. Ed seemed completely oblivious to his sudden discomfort and giggled. "Edward is right, isn't Edward, huh?"

Taking a few breaths, Vicious turned his head away from her, disregarding the question. From what he could hear, the girl seemed to await his answer until it became clear he wasn't about to give one.

"That a no?...No no?...NOOOOOOOOO!" Ed wailed, falling backwards with her feet sticking into the air, then started flailing her limbs around. "Crash and buuuuurn!"

"Ed." Ed stopped and looked over to see Jet in the doorway, face stern and eyes wary.

"Hello, welcome to House of Edward, how may Edward help you?" she asked, looking at him neutrally.

"I told you to leave him alone," he repeated, hastily setting down two pills and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Painkillers," he explained briefly to Vicious without meeting his eyes, then returned his focus to Ed. "Come with me, Ed, and bring your laptop. I need you to help me with something."

"Okie dokie smokie croakie!" she replied in a chipper voice, then grabbed her laptop and scampered away, following Jet. "Bye bye, Person-person!" Vicious' brow furrowed slightly at the nickname, but when he glanced up, she was already gone.

* * *

Jet allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief once he'd gotten Ed away from Vicious, and once he reached the hall, he paused to watch her cartwheel by him, then drop into a lotus position on the floor. "No name for him, huh?" he asked, a bit curious, as that wasn't a usual thing for her.

Ed only giggled. "Ed knows who _he _is. Viciousssss!" she hissed, curling and uncurling her fingers in the air to suggest something sinister. "But Ed does not know his REAL name, so he is Person-person." All was stated matter-of-factly, as if that was the obvious solution. Then, quite abruptly, she changed the subject. "Help for Jet-person! What does he want?"

Jet hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out where even to start, then blinked to attention after a short time. "Yeah...think you can hack into the files of the major crime syndicates on Mars? See if there are any notes that even imply anything about Spike. Don't forget to keep your line encrypted, they're usually pretty good at tracing." Ed grinned at the challenge, then pulled her goggles from her neck and snapped them over her eyes.

"Yes sir, Jet-person, sir!" she said, saluting with two fingers, then began to type furiously once again. "Voodoo, sky-blue, kangaroo! Spike-person, where are youuu?" she rhymed as she typed. Jet shook his head at her fondly, and once he was sure she would be busy for a while, he left to the ship's kitchen; in all the confusion with Spike and Vicious, he had completely lost track of the time. It was getting late, and neither he nor Ed had eaten a thing since lunch.

As he heated up what was left of the bellpeppers and what Spike had once aptly named 'anti-beef,' Jet found himself thinking of the last meal he had shared with Spike, only hours ago. It felt like years already, that Spike had told him the story of the tiger-striped cat that lived a million lives and died a million times. Jet really didn't know what he thought of the story now; he just knew that he would give anything to have Spike here to tell it again.

Once the food was heated, Jet spooned it onto three plates; he frankly didn't want to be within ten feet of Vicious, but that didn't mean he was going to starve him. Glancing at Ein's empty food dish, he set down the plates briefly and grabbed the last can of dog food, dumping it in. Ein trotted in as soon as he heard the food hit the bowl. Jet shook his head as he stood up. "Well, Ein, I guess you get a share of the ramen next week," he informed the data dog, then grabbed the three plates and left the kitchen.

"Food, Ed," was all Jet said as he set the plate down next to her in passing. She was sitting in the exact same place he'd left her, in the exact same position, typing at the exact same rapid pace.

"Thank you, Jet-person...leave a plate-plate-plate at the beep-beep...beep..." she mumbled, completely absorbed in her hacking. Jet chuckled a little at her ever-changing moods as he left the room.

Vicious glanced up when Jet slid a plate down to his end of the coffee table, but didn't say anything when Jet didn't. The two men barely exchanged a glance before Jet left for his bonsai room.

Finally alone, Jet exhaled slowly. Something about Vicious just completely threw him off. He didn't notice how tense his muscles were until he relaxed them; the sudden release was almost painful, so taut had they been.

Everything was so quiet now, he realized as he stared at his little bonsai trees. No Spike was there to lighten the mood with his sarcastic and remarkably quick wit; no Faye to complain that the shower was broken, whether it was in fact broken or not. Now there was only a distracted Ed, an indifferent Ein, and...a Vicious. "...Damn you, Spike," Jet found himself saying softly. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go. Now look what we got ourselves into. You're God knows where, probably half-dead if not dead already, I'm stuck in a ship with _Ed_ and _Vicious_...shit...and Faye took off before I got back. She's probably having better luck with gambling than we are with anything right now..."

It was at this point that Jet realized that Spike wasn't going to answer. He was talking to someone who may very well have been dead by then. It was unbelievable how empty the ship felt already. They had been partners for three years; it seemed unthinkable that it should come to a halt now.

When he was finished, Jet pushed the plate aside and pulled out a cigarette. He had no idea how to keep bringing in bounty, much less survive in a ship with Vicious and Ed, _and_ manage to bring Spike back, all in the same lifetime; it was definitely a nicotine occasion. He lit up, then took a long drag to calm his nerves a little. With his free hand he grabbed the empty plate to take it to the kitchen area.

As he passed through the living quarters, Jet noticed that Vicious' plate was still only half-empty; yet Vicious now lay with his eyes closed, clearly finished. It was hard to tell whether he was already approaching sleep or was just dead tired. Shuddering slightly, Jet grabbed the half-empty plate and started to limp towards the kitchen. He was barely out of the room, however, when his vidphone started beeping.

Letting out his breath in exasperation, Jet shoved the plates into the sink and answered it. "Yeah?"

The man on the other end of the line was not one he recognized. In fact, he looked more like the type of guy Jet would have tracked down in his ISSP days. At first glance, there wasn't much to be remarked on; he had coarse black hair just past his shoulders, mostly pulled back, dark olive skin, and he wore a dark green trenchcoat. Nothing really notable. However, it was his eyes, a glimmering silver, that threw Jet off guard. They screamed of a bloody-eye addict, the irises and pupils abnormally small. They made him look more than a little bit insane.

"Jet Black, right?" the man asked, his quiet, smooth voice making it difficult to guess his age.

"Yeah, that's me," he said guardedly. "We met?"

"No," the man replied simply, an apathetic sort of calm in his voice as he appeared to study Jet. "We don't really have to. Meet, that is. If you cough up some information, we could well have never exchanged a word."

Jet cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of information are we talking about?"

"The kind that you have. Could be worth dying for, if we're understanding each other." Those glittering silver eyes flashed, daring him to refuse. Jet's demeanor didn't change.

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Your cooperation is appreciated." Jet raised one index finger calmly.

"Hold on now. Whatever it is you're after, I'm not saying anything blindly. Can't give information if the deal's one-sided," he said simply. The man took the protest in stride, keeping a reasonable manner about him.

"True enough. I don't have much information you'd be interested in, but I could throw some woolongs into the deal if that's what you're after. Unless, of course, you need more incentive than that."

Suspicion clouding his eyes, Jet crossed his arms. "What kind of incentive are we talking here?"

The man looked at him a bit strangely. "Don't tell me you haven't even wondered about your partner's whereabouts yet? I've been under the impression that you'd be more suspicious than that." Jet's eyes widened slightly and his mouth clamped shut.

Giving a small sound of affirmation, the man stood with the purposeful grace of a cat, and reached forward as if to come right out of the screen; however, he was only moving his vidphone monitor. An impending sense of dread began to pulse through Jet's system, and he could swear he felt his stomach drop straight out of him when the dread was confirmed: when the man's hand was out of t he way, there, partially concealed by shadows, was Spike. He was propped into a chair, unconscious, his hands tied behind his back and attached to the chair. Even through the mediocre connection, Jet could tell that his partner was not in good shape.

"He hasn't come to yet," came the man's voice from off-screen. "If we hadn't picked him up, I doubt he ever would." Moving the monitor back to its original position, the man sat down again, leaning one elbow on his desk informally. "If that's enough incentive for you, I'll move on to your part in this. All you are required to do is make a small delivery at a place and time I will specify."

"And what's that?" Jet heard himself croak out after taking the time to find his voice. The man paused a moment, glancing behind Jet briefly before focusing again.

"Your ship's newest occupant, the Dragon—the reason isn't your concern," he added as Jet drew breath to ask what for. "I assume you're familiar enough with how this will work; thus, if you decide not to cooperate," he continued, the casual aura around him dropping very suddenly, "you'll understand when you find your partner's head on your doorstep."

* * *

Once again, reviews are embraced and flames are shunned. Later. 


	3. Want It All Back

Disclaimer: Still don't own it...I do own the guy Jet's talking to right now, though...so there.

* * *

Chapter 2: Want It All Back 

Jet's every muscle went taut, and he subtly glanced at Vicious from the corner of his eye. He was still out, but his was a restless sleep. Jet could see Vicious' fingers compulsively clenching and unclenching in the couch cushions. Brushing away a flash of Spike doing the same thing when he dreamed, he met the man's eyes again. Torn between the advice of his common sense and that of his conscience, Jet merely remained silent, to buy himself some time to think.

The man seemed patient enough, sitting back and languidly twirling a pocketknife between his fingers while he allowed Jet to mull over it.

A thought coming to mind, Jet frowned slightly and looked up once more. "Enlighten me here. If he's all you want, why wouldn't you just send a squad and get him yourself?" He eyed the man quizzically. "It'd be a hell of a lot more convenient on both sides."

Giving a shrug, the man replied, "Not so much. It's much more conspicuous for us to come to you than for you to come to us. I doubt you have as remarkable a criminal record as our majority," he added, the side of his mouth quirking up in mild amusement.

"Alright, I'll buy that," Jet agreed reluctantly, "but then, if you were right there to get Spike, why didn't you just grab Vicious while you were at it?" No way in hell was he going to believe it was just human error on their part. If _that_ was true, this guy wouldn't be alive to negotiate over it.

"It wasn't our job," Mafia-boy replied simply. "If you'd arrived ten minutes later, neither of them would have been there for you to whisk away." He eyed Jet challengingly, as if daring him to question any more of the details.

When Jet still looked uncertain, the man gave a small sigh and sat up, leaning his elbows on his desk again. "Look, I'm on a schedule like the rest of the world, so for the sake of time, I'll take a risk on you. There are some arrangements to be made on our side, so I'll give you that time to think it over. However, let me stress how much this deal is favoring you. One life for the price of three, with interest. If you were to decline, you'd be the first of your kind, and frankly, an idiot."

However, the last sentence fell upon deaf ears. Jet hadn't gotten to the last phrase. "Three lives?" he inquired guardedly, eying the man with suspicion. "I don't know any other Spikes."

"Well, his isn't the only one at stake," the man replied, looking slightly surprised that it hadn't occurred to Jet. "I've been told you've some skill with decryption, in which case you could have the authorities listening in by now, or tracking it. And in this line of business, we only know one foolproof method of being sure people don't let anything _slip_."

"That makes two," Jet stated calmly, remaining as relaxed as ever and waiting patiently for the third threat.

The man's face went deadpan, as if disappointed that Jet still needed to be told. "Would you honestly expect a kid to keep their mouth shut if their guardian suddenly disappeared?" he asked, his eyes moving to glance behind Jet and settling on where Ed still typed contentedly on her laptop.

"HEY!" Jet burst out suddenly, quickly regaining the man's attention. "You or your boys come within a hundred _feet_ of her, I'll—"

"That," the man interjected, "won't be necessary, if you do as you're told."

Jet's eyes narrowed, the fire not quite leaving them. "Let's say I agree to it. How can I know I won't just be taken out once you have him, or pegged up for murder a week later?"

"Won't happen; I thought I made that clear when I explained the bargain." By now he was starting to look a little impatient, his silver eyes glimmering dangerously as he stood up. When he spoke, his voice was formal and brief. "You'll be informed of the place and time. You know all the pros and cons," he paused to quickly and pointedly flick his eyes to Ed and back, daring Jet to say anything, "which means there isn't much reason to give you time, other than for the sake of our own convenience. Finally, I wouldn't suggest leaving your ship between now and the time you're contacted. We've had to take some precautions, so to speak—we don't know who you could be talking to," he finished, his face neutral but his voice betraying a sliver of satisfaction at the sour expression that quickly came to Jet's features.

"Hmph," was Jet's only reply, as he didn't trust himself to verbalize anything at this current moment. The man reached to turn off his end of the vidphone, glancing briefly in the direction of where Vicious lay. A quick look told Jet that the Dragon had regained consciousness.

"Until then," he bid, moving his eyes back to Jet to acknowledge him as well. Then the screen went blank.

By now, Jet's cigarette had burned all the way down, but he didn't even notice, as he had it clenched in his left hand. "Damnit..." He stared at the blank screen a little longer, then his left arm shot out and slammed into the wall, giving it a nice new dent. "DAMNIT!" He whirled around to face Vicious accusingly. "You know that guy?"

"No." Vicious didn't look away from the screen either, his eyes narrowed slightly in what Jet could only guess to be puzzlement at this turn of events.

Jet would have gone on in frustration, but he was cut off by a flash of light from the hallway in which Ed was sitting, immediately followed by her flying backwards with a shriek. "What the...!" Jet's vexation was replaced by curiosity, and he went into the hall to find Ed slumped against the back wall, her hair sticking straight out every which way and smoking. Through the doorway of the room, Jet could see that the computer was blank and smoking as well. "What happened!" he demanded, kneeling down next to her.

"Oohhhh..." she moaned. "Tomato go boom-boom..." She shook her goggles away from her eyes, and they dropped around her neck. "Rig-ragged file is eeeevil..."

"The files were rigged?" Jet repeated half to himself, and Ed nodded, swaying back and forth dizzily. "Which syndicate were you hacking into, Ed?" She stared into space without a word, and Jet shook her gently. "Ed? Come on, what syndicate was it?"

"...BIRDIES!" she finally exclaimed, then promptly passed out.

* * *

After the incident, Jet had set Ed in Faye's old bed and returned to his bonsai room to just try to sort things out for a while. He completely lost track of time as he enshrouded himself in thoughts of Spike and Vicious, of the strange call, of how he could get out of the mess he'd somehow gotten himself into—he couldn't conjure up a thing—of the damn tiger-striped cat, of everything. 

By the time he returned to the gloom of reality, a glance at the clock told him that it was well past midnight. He'd been up early that morning, knowing that he couldn't stop Spike but wanting to spend at least one last day with him. Jet could feel his eyelids drooping and considered sleeping; much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't much else he could do about the situation except fix Ed's computer, which there was no way he would attempt to do in his half-awake state. He would likely end up in the same condition as Ed if he tried to do a thing with it before getting some rest.

Finally Jet gave up trying to stay awake and quietly left his bonsai, going to his room for some much-needed sleep.

* * *

From the moment he'd awakened to the sound of his title over the vidphone, Vicious' mind had been working. Before he'd even opened his eyes, his mind had quickly listed everyone he could think of who would know him, follow him, and be resourceful enough to negotiate over him in such a short time. Alongside that list, he decided after listening a moment, went a list of those who disliked him enough to do so. Choosing to ignore how distastefully long the second list was, and noting that none of the names matched the voice he heard, he'd finally opened his eyes and marked the face he saw, burning it into his memory for future reference. 

Once the call had ended, effectively getting Spike's partner riled up before he knew he was getting riled up, Vicious was able to deduce that whatever the matter was, it wasn't personal to the caller, which was a good thing. Personal usually meant vengeance, which usually meant excessiveness, which was irritating as all hell. However, he wasn't able to think for long about what sort of _im_personal matter concerned him before his head began to swim, resulting in a silent damning of painkillers.

Though he had no doubt that he would be able to sleep, as drowsiness was already beginning to set in, Vicious paused a moment to glance with slightly narrowed eyes in the direction Jet had gone. The man had surprised him, which was surprising in itself, as Vicious found very few things impressive lately. He certainly hadn't expected to spend the evening in a run-down ship, choking down leftover bellpeppers while a Welsh corgi stared at him from across the room.

It was a strange departure from the path he'd expected, he decided as he finally gave his eyes a rest. Perhaps it would be best to lay low for the moment, while the option was staring him in the face. This little convalescence was in no way unwelcome; after all, it wasn't as though he could do much else when he was still working on standing up. Let Spike's partner be the begrudging mother hen he was turning out to be; far be it from Vicious to deny the medical attention.

So, it was decided. He would stay until he left, simply put. If that time happened to be the date the man on the phone had promised to specify, so be it. Whatever happened would happen.

Decision made, Vicious allowed his mind a much-needed release, letting himself drift into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Just a note to **microfiber shoelaces**, **Picon**, and **Milky Wings**, thank you so much for your reviews. You really made my day. Seriously. I was raving about all of you to everyone in earshot yesterday. So thank you; you inspire me to carry on! 

To Everyone Else: (chibi-V bops in with two flags in hand, one reading "review please!" and the other reading "thank you!")


	4. Too Good, Too Bad

Disclaimer: (diss-CLAY-murr) 1. A repudiation or denial of responsibility or connection.

...That means I don't own Bebop.

* * *

Chapter 3: Too Good, Too Bad 

Vicious had never liked to sleep. He'd always seen it as a waste of time, and held it in high distaste—a view that had earned him many an incredulous look from Spike when they were younger. However, at the moment he would make an exception. Even as he drifted into consciousness, for the first time in a long time he made every attempt to avoid it. The 'nothing' in his mind was a welcome change, and he expected to keep a hold on it until the false security sleep carried with it began to fade.

However, he hadn't quite recalled yet that he wasn't alone.

"PERSON-PERSOOOOON!" Vicious' eyes pried open just in time to see Ed vault up to a pipe on the ceiling, then swing down to land **hard**, catching him right in the stomach. He let out an instinctive gasp of pain, the wind knocked out of him. He could practically hear his bruised ribs and bullet-wound screaming in agony.

Ed giggled as she sat on Vicious' stomach, facing him with a big grin. "It's lunchtime already, Person-person! It's gonna get cold!" Vicious sucked in his breath, glaring daggers at the child. She caught his death-glare and mirrored it, hissing at him like some kind of wild animal.

"GET off!" Vicious barked back, understandably annoyed at such a wake-up call. Ed shrieked and jumped away, scrambling behind Jet as he walked in with two plates of leftover sukiyaki. He appeared slightly confused, then looked back at Ed suspiciously.

"What did you do?"

"Edward did nothing! Edward is innocent!" she replied quickly, before flashing a severe pout in Vicious' direction and racing into the kitchen to get her lunch.

Jet stared after her with raised eyebrows for a second, then set Vicious' plate down on the coffee table. He then took a seat in one of the chairs and turned the TV on to the Channel Guide, his personal favorite, though it had no more substance than anything on the other channels. He only had it on to kill the silence, anyway.

While the names of 700 channels of nothing but soap operas and sports rolled across the screen, Jet glanced at Vicious, who had at some point managed to sit up. "...Any ideas on who would want Spike, or why?" he attempted at length, getting straight to business so he could (hopefully) get it over with.

"Bait," Vicious suggested simply after eying the television with thinly-veiled disgust.

"Bait?" Jet echoed, frowning. "For who, you?"

"It's possible," Vicious replied, "but it could just as easily be one of your last partner's connections." Jet froze, turning to stare at Vicious in shock.

"How in the hell do you know about that?" he demanded, taken completely off guard.

Vicious kept a nonchalant mien. "Sources," he responded simply.

Jet had to quickly force down the rapid demands of just what else these mysterious 'sources' had said, instead keeping to the matter at hand. "...So what's he got to do with it, then?"

"Betrayal isn't taken lightly in the clans."

"Coulda fooled me..." Jet heard himself mutter rather harshly before realizing he was actually saying it out loud.

Vicious met his eyes then, swirling darkness hidden behind the ice-blue stare. "You couldn't have stopped him if you tried," he said darkly, bringing into light the true source of the hostile comment. "He knows I'm the only one who can kill him." He looked at Jet steadily. "And I _will_ kill him."

Jet didn't know where it came from or why, but those words made something deep inside him snap. An image of the heaviness in Spike's eyes the last time he saw him flashed through Jet's mind with an overwhelming clarity, and before he had any idea what he was doing, he'd lunged at Vicious and yanked him to his feet by the collar. For a second their eyes locked in a stare-down, Vicious' daring Jet to make a move, Jet's daring Vicious to say another word.

It was Jet who gave in first, forcing his voice to remain calm. "I don't care what happened between you and Spike," he managed to force out in a composed voice, if shaking slightly with anger. "I don't give a _shit_ about the Red Dragons, or Julia, but hear me now, you will **not** take Spike Spiegel's life before taking mine. Got that?" Oh, how hard it was to _say_ the words, rather than scream them in Vicious' face. Something in him just seemed to boil with the thought of the look in Spike's eyes just before he'd left, and the idea of this man giving him more pain than he already had to bear.

Vicious' face portrayed no emotion, but his eyes still glimmered dangerously. "That can be arranged," he said in his ever-quiet voice. Then, with a quick glance towards the kitchen in which Ed still lingered: "Perhaps you'd like to take the child along for the ride."

The words had barely left his mouth before a metal fist in his gut knocked the wind out of him. His bruised stomach and ribs screamed in protest, but he did no more than double over slightly, subtly snatching something from under his belt in the process. "I swear to God," Jet told him through clenched teeth, "if you weren't the last living connection to Spike, I'd kill you right now." He looked Vicious dead in the eye. "I don't care if you threaten me, but I swear, if you even _look_ at her in a way I don't like, that's just what I'm gonna do."

Vicious kept a steady gaze on him, absolutely unfazed. In the split-second it took for complete silence to settle over the both of them, it was broken by a resounding _click_ as Vicious flipped open his switchblade—the very one he'd taken from under his belt not ten seconds prior—and pressed its tip into Jet's stomach, just enough so he could feel it. Jet froze, and Vicious' mouth twisted into an unsettling smirk. The next three words he spoke seemed to roll off his tongue. "I dare you." For a split-second he saw an uncontrollable rage flare in Jet's eyes, but somehow he managed to smother it, instead shoving Vicious back onto the couch and storming out of the room.

* * *

A while later, Jet still avoided the living room as much as possible. He didn't want to hear another word leave that snake's mouth, not about him, about Spike, about Ed, about anything or anyone. Yes, by this point he knew that he'd allowed himself to be completely suckered into Vicious' game; the last bit about Ed was no more than his way of testing Jet's limits, and in truth he'd pulled it off beautifully. That in itself made Jet want to scream in frustration at his own density. 

Even as he put the finishing touches on some of the Bebop's damaged wiring that he'd been tending to, Vicious' words still echoed in Jet's head, making his blood boil all over again. He wasn't _afraid_ of Vicious; though, he didn't deny that the Dragon was dangerous, and they both damn well knew it. That, of course, was the reason for the empty grin, that mirthlessly arrogant smirk. He was like a serpent, deadly, completely aware of its own venom and unafraid to bare its fangs.

_And a cocky little bastard at that..._ Jet mentally muttered to himself, feeling his fists clench with indignation. Something about the mere thought of being outwitted by someone like _that_, someone who'd wounded him time and time again through Spike, seemed to send fire through Jet's blood.

With similar angry thoughts still playing through his mind on repeat, Jet decided to take a break from wiring—thanks to the wonderful left arm and some rather enthusiastic wires, he'd received more than a few jolts from the apparently hostile ship—and get some fresh air. Well...at least as fresh as it could get in this part of Tharsis, anyway.

That decided, Jet stood up, shooting a death-glare at a particularly hot wire that had sent him one last jolt as a parting gift; then he turned away, heading outside.

It was rather nice out, surprisingly; the chain of rainstorms had finally subsided, and the autumn air was crisp and refreshing. The sky had metamorphosed into a rather fascinating shade of burnt orange, typical to autumns on Mars, and the landscape, though far from that of paradise, had a sort of tainted charm to it. Just looking over the dark, glittering water seemed to diminish much of Jet's sour mood, leaving him in a rather weary, placid state of mind.

Suddenly feeling very tired of the situation he was in, Jet took a leisurely step forward towards the edge of the metal landing.

However, before his foot had even touched the ground, a deafening _crack_ echoed through the air and a bullethole appeared mere centimeters in front of where he would have stood.

Jet stared at the bullethole for a moment, left foot still hovering a few inches above the ground, then looked up calmly and set it down. Right on cue, another shot rang out, this time from the opposite direction as the first, and made another nice little hole in the landing, just a bit closer than its comrade. Instantly, the voice of Spike's captor drifted back to Jet's mind. _"We've had to take some precautions, so to speak..."_

_...Great. Juuuust peachy, _Jet thought to himself dryly, shaking his head and leaning against the doorway. _Now I'm being kept hostage on my own ship. _Sighing in defeat, Jet tiredly lit another cigarette and crossed his arms. _And the damn ship is a bullet-magnet, no less. May as well just rename this hunk of junk and be done with it._ A cynical half-grin forming at his lips, Jet pushed away from the doorway. "I now christen this ship: The Swiss Cheese," he murmured wryly, then calmly sent a middle-finger salute to however many shooters just happened to be watching him and returned inside.

* * *

Having nothing better to do after tempting the wrath of Jet, Vicious had decided to just turn his eyes to the flickering TV for the hell of it. _So, Spike, this is what you do all day. Fend off the kid and hunt down bountyheads with Jet Black. It would be a lie to say it doesn't suit you._ He unconsciously massaged his right shoulder, where a rather nasty bruise had already been and where Jet's robotic hand had struck him in the process of knocking him down. Though, it really didn't bother him in the least; either way, he'd still won, and both of them knew it. _You must have won him over pretty quickly, judging by how he defends you. I wouldn't put his words past him._

Coming out of his thoughts, Vicious found himself stealing an uncaring glance at whatever was showing on the screen; finding that it was the same mindless drivel that he could only assume was on every channel, as he never had the desire to own a television, he dispassionately switched it off. That done, he sat back, letting out his breath and closing his eyes.

"Person-person?" Vicious frowned in distaste, but his eyes remained closed.

"Go away."

"But Edward needs—"

"No." There was a short silence, and for a moment Vicious thought he'd managed to get rid of the odd child. He opened his eyes again...and came face to upside-down face with the very object of his annoyance. Instinctively he flinched backwards in surprise, his hand flying to his waist to clutch the katana that wasn't there.

"But Jet-person is fixing Bebop-Bebop and can't do it!" Ed protested, interrupting him. The kid's movements had been dead silent. She had climbed onto the back of the couch directly behind Vicious and now had a hand on either side of him on the seat-cushions, facing him upside-down. When she got no reply, she shifted her weight to her hands and flipped over the couch, landing on the coffee table in a crouching position. It was then that she proceeded to grab Vicious' trenchcoat from where it was draped on the arm of the couch and run around the room with it as though it were a cape, giggling madly.

Vicious' hands slowly fisted themselves in the couch cushions as he followed her with cold eyes, knowing well enough that to even attempt standing up would be pointless. Let the brat act up, as long as she didn't give him a good reason to decide otherwise.

Even as the thought passed through his mind, the spastic girl had reached into one of the inside pockets and started to fish around in it, still gamboling around peculiarly. Unsure of what exactly he'd put in that pocket, but starting to feel rather defensive of his privacy, Vicious felt his blood begin to simmer. "Drop it," he commanded calmly, though he was sure there was nothing of real importance there. He'd found already that Jet had taken the liberty of confiscating the one gun he used, as well as his katana. It didn't really bother him; there was plenty of time, and for now he would take advantage of the time he had to heal.

"Get a key and lock-it, somethin's in your pock-et!" Ed caroled, waving a lighter and a pocketknife to and fro. Somehow, it didn't make him much more comfortable to see her flailing around with both fire and sharp objects in her possession, and subtly relaxed when she dropped them both back into said pocket. "You need to empty your pockets so Jet-person can wash that so it won't smell like GUUUUUTS!" she explained, shouting the last word at the top of her lungs in emphasis, then daintily dropped the trenchcoat back into his lap and stepped back, waiting expectantly.

...Alright, she wasn't exactly wrong about that. Most, if not all of the blood on it was either Spike's or his own, and though Vicious was quite used to those two particular scents lately, he didn't exactly need to carry it with him at all times. Without a word, he reached into the aforementioned pocket to once again remove the two objects, then pitched the trenchcoat at Ed. She caught it easily. "Thank you, come again!" she bid him, bowing deeply, then bounded away.

Vicious glanced after her, then relocated the two things into his pants pocket for now. While he was at it, he silently made a note _not_ to let them get in the girl's hands hereafter.

* * *

Gallons of thanks to **VanillaRose**, **Picon**, **Milky Wings**, and my best friend and beta-reader-ish, **Shini-Hi** for your wonderful reviews. I love you guys! 

To Everyone Else: Reviews make muses happy. Flames make muses disappear to tropical islands for several months. Save a muse. Write a review.


	5. Elm

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Cowboy Bebop.

...Felt like trying a normal one. Just for kicks. (shrug) Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4: Elm 

Jet found himself distracted as he pushed three pieces of bread into the 2062-model toaster oven equipped in the Bebop's kitchen. His ire toward Vicious had numbed slightly overnight; not to say he was anywhere close to _not_ loathing Vicious, but the boiling rage wasn't quite as potent now as it had been the day before. The two of them hadn't exchanged two words since, and it was just as well; it wasn't as though either had anything_ to_ say.

Ed watched in fascination as the bread slowly turned to toast, then looked up at Jet. "Should Ed ask Person-person what he wants on his toast?" Jet shrugged.

"Sure, knock yourself out, unless he's still asleep. Don't bother to wake him up if he is. And...be careful around that guy, will you do that for me, Ed? He does anything funny, yell and get out of there."

"Yes, yes..." She peeked into the living area, where Vicious lay motionless on the couch. She then crept into the room and squatted next to the couch, putting her face up close to Vicious'. He didn't stir. Slightly disappointed, she returned to the kitchen. "Person-person sleeps too much," she informed Jet with a disappointed sigh.

"Just as well," he replied half to himself. "Want anything on yours, Ed?" By that question, of course, he meant something more to the effect of 'butter or no,' for the fact that, being stuck on the ship, he'd had to start rationing. Not that they had anything fantastic in the first place, but when one is trapped on a spaceship, food is food.

"Eggs and cinnamon and pickles and raspberry jam!" she answered eagerly, cracking a big smile. "Scrambled, please!" Jet raised an eyebrow at her. She stared back innocently. After a few silent seconds, Ed finally slumped. She gave a deep sigh, and her voice went deadpan. "Bebop-Bebop got bellpeppers?"

"Yeah..." Jet stared at her for a bit, but she seemed perfectly earnest in her odd request. "...Whatever suits you." He took some leftover bellpeppers from the fridge and slapped some onto one of the toast-slabs. Immediately Ed's mood seemed to brighten considerably.

"Thankies, Jet-person!" she said sincerely, then raced for her newly-repaired computer. Once she'd plopped down in front of it, she took a big bite out of her toast creation. Jet rolled his eyes at her antics with a grin, then slathered some butter over his. That done, he grabbed the third plate and went out to the living room.

He set the plate on the coffee table, glancing at Vicious briefly. It didn't really surprise him that the Dragon's breathing was slightly uneven, or that he was covered in a sheen of cold sweat; as was expected of injuries like he had, he'd been contending with a fever for the past few hours. However, the fact that the tenseness in his body was making his bullet-wound open up, soaking the bandage with new blood, was less than welcome.

Just as Jet was straightening up, Vicious flinched into consciousness. Almost at once, Jet noticed with a bit of incredulity, Vicious' breathing evened out again, as though he'd forced it to do so.

After sliding carefully into a sitting position and blinking a few times, Vicious became aware of Jet's presence in the room. He glanced up at him, and once he'd determined that Jet was just passing through, he looked away.

"That needs to be rewrapped," Jet said coolly. Noticing Vicious' quick look in the direction of the bathroom, he added, "Take those bandages off when you're done. Can't promise the shower won't break, though." He turned back toward the kitchen. "I'll rewrap it when you're out."

Vicious nodded silently in acknowledgment, and Jet left the room.

* * *

Vicious closed his eyes, trying not to wince as the hot water attacked every open wound on his body, making each one burn madly in its own respect. The bullet-wound had decided to be particularly hostile, the blood refusing to clot and receiving the water as though it were salt. He'd almost grinned upon the first stab of pain, though; he'd expected no less from one of Spike's bullets. It was somewhat refreshing, in a strange way. 

It had actually surprised Vicious a little, just how badly he'd been beaten, or at least how bad it looked. His torso was virtually covered in bruises, and there were still some visible dark spots in which he'd had some minor internal bleeding. Not all of these had come from Spike, though; on the contrary, most of the bruises were tokens of his captivity within the Red Dragon, for just as he'd told Jet before, traitors were not dealt with lightly. The promise of death had most certainly not been his only punishment.

The common 'discipline' given to traitors within the syndicate was not a forgiving process. Typically, the traitor would be chained to the wall, as he had been, and then beaten until they either screamed for mercy or choked on their own blood, all while the Van watched and berated them; then they would be executed. Vicious could still practically hear Wang Long's sneering voice: _"It is a shame that Spike is no longer alive to see this. Perhaps he would finally understand that to befriend a serpent is to weather its bite. Yet...to do so out of mere pity," _at this point, a disgusting grin had twisted across Wang Long's face, _"is to offer one's veins and beg for venom...do you not agree?"_

Oh, how Vicious had lusted for Wang Long's blood at that moment, but he'd quickly banished any emotion from his features; he would not allow them the satisfaction. Rather, he'd shifted his attention to a fellow Dragon who had been 'assigned' to him, so to speak. He hadn't recognized the Dragon's face, which hadn't surprised him; it was a typical 'enforcer,' whose sole purpose within the syndicate was to threaten, maim or kill those who didn't cooperate. His build was fairly large, with glittering eyes, powerful arms, and a deadly control of his own strength, the latter of which was more than could be said for many enforcers. If his body or mind held any other secrets, Vicious hadn't really cared to search them out.

The 'treatment' had been blunt and deliberate. Vicious had to commend this particular enforcer, for he managed never to strike an area in the same way twice; his punches ever remained quick and controlled; and, wisely, not once had he looked Vicious in the eye. Hell, one of the blows to the face had actually made Vicious' eyes water a little. His interest slightly piqued at this minor challenge, Vicious had then taken it upon himself to fasten his gaze on the man's face with unblinking eyes, and quietly determine just how long it would be before this enforcer would realize the game.

It hadn't taken long. Vicious' vision was starting to blur before the man finally made the fatal mistake of glancing up, however briefly. Even as he'd continued doing his job, Vicious could see the brief flash of doubt in the man's eyes. He continued to calmly watch the man's eyes, glittering against contrasting dark skin, through every move he made. And gradually, just as Vicious had predicted, the attacks became fiercer, and harder, and stronger. It had brought a morbid smirk to Vicious' face; this was just another man rendered powerless under his stare, just another man now under his control.

It wasn't until the man had suddenly grabbed him by the throat with one hand and started repeatedly slamming his free fist into his gut, splintering his lower ribs and boldly meeting his eyes with unmasked anger and frustration, that Vicious found himself so sure of his own abilities, that the taunting grin had become a quiet, mirthless laugh, strained by the fingers cutting off his air. Then the man's grip had tightened, and the smirk had remained on Vicious' face until his world had finally gone black.

Even now, in this merciful moment of isolation, Vicious could still taste the coppery tang of his own blood. The fingerprint-shaped bruises at his neck were aggravated with every pulse of his heart, so that it still felt as though ghost-hands were preparing to crush his throat with every second that passed. His ribs ached dully yet, and the baiting words of Wang Long continued to echo in the back of his mind now and then, but it didn't matter. Those, like all things, would fade with time. What vexed him was the hole put in him by Spike's bullet.

For no particular reason, he brought up his fingers to gingerly prod the wound. It bit back with a ferocity that surprised him into taking in a sharp breath as his body spasmed in protest. Just as quickly, he righted himself and frowned slightly. This was wrong. Something had happened in that moment, the moment that continued to flash before him whenever he opened his eyes. He'd known right away that the bullet hadn't touched his heart, even as it had torn through him. As a result, the slash of his blade had come up short, enough to mortally wound Spike, but not enough to kill him on the spot. It was wrong.

Trust Spike to do something like this, Vicious decided as he slowly turned off the water, sending an agonizing _screech_ through the air.

_Alright, Spike. **I'm** awake now. So tell me, Spike, why you didn't kill me._

* * *

There was a tense, heavy silence as Jet applied the second set of bandages to Vicious' wounds. Jet's jaw was clenched shut, his face pulled into a frown of concentration; Vicious' eyes were closed as he waited patiently for Jet to finish. At the other end of the room, Ed quietly typed on her computer, goggles firmly bound around her eyes. Ein slept next to Ed, his paws twitching slightly. 

"Arms, up," Jet muttered. Vicious obeyed without a word. Ein uttered a couple of soft growling sounds from the other end of the room. The ceiling fan gave a low creak. Ed made a sound not unlike Ein's growl, then attacked the 'delete' key with her index finger. The fan creaked. Jet clenched his fist more tightly around the bandage he was currently working with.

The fan creaked.

Finally, Jet couldn't take it anymore. He slammed one fist down on the coffee table he was sitting on, and burst out: "Was it all because of the woman?"

Vicious' eyes opened quickly, but he didn't look at Jet. He merely looked straight ahead, at nothing. "What did he tell you?" It was much more of a statement, a quiet utterance, than a question.

"...Only that her name was Julia," Jet replied as he returned to bandaging, much more relaxed now that the silence was broken. Vicious closed his eyes again.

"That's all you need to know."

Jet frowned a little, but didn't pry further. His question had gone unanswered, but at least the unsaid, uncomfortable something was no longer hanging in the air.

He continued bandaging up Vicious' torso, then quickly finished wrapping the lacerations on his arms. Once finished, he stood up and started for the bathroom to put back the first-aid kit.

"...No." Jet paused a moment upon hearing the single word, the belated answer to his question. He glanced back to see Vicious still in the exact same position, except his eyes were open. They were as cold as they'd always been, but clouded, as though he were somewhere else.

Jet was silent a moment longer, then turned back around and returned the first-aid kit to its place. Not of his own accord, Jet found himself thinking of the call he'd received not two days ago; the talk of Spike had brought it quickly to the front of his mind. "If we do get him back..." he trailed off, the obvious but unsaid question lingering in the air. _Will you try to kill him again?_

Vicious' eyes cleared up a little, and after a short hesitation, he gave a single shake of his head to the negative. "Not then," he said slowly, as though pondering the worth of his own words even as he said them. "Besides," he glanced up and calmly met Jet's eyes again, "I'd have to kill you first, if I'm not mistaken," he added pointedly, referring to what Jet had all but shouted in his face the day before. Jet nodded in all seriousness.

"Yeah," he replied easily, "you would." With that, he exited to go about his own business.

Vicious sat back, stretching to break in the stiff new bandages that virtually covered his torso. He could tell by Jet's eyes that he wasn't lying in the least when he agreed with the last implication. He would die for who and what he believed in in a heartbeat, and that was not something that Vicious looked down upon.

At the other end of the room, Ed was still completely engrossed in whatever she was doing on her computer. Next to her, Ein finally awakened and sat up, shaking away the weariness ironically brought on by sleep, then trotted away from the computer desk. He went right up to Vicious and touched his nose to his hand. Vicious glanced down, then stayed still and looked away distractedly, letting the dog be a dog. Though Spike had never liked dogs, Vicious really didn't have anything against them, so long as they didn't bark or follow him everywhere. They were loyal, which he could respect; but if they were kicked one too many times, they would attack, which he commended.

When Ein was finally content, he loped away, leaving Vicious to his thoughts. He didn't really notice when Jet reentered the room and started to flip through the channels; though he had only been on the Bebop for two days now, he could swear he was starting to memorize each channel's individual IQ-draining programs. He kept his eyes half-open for a few moments out of pure boredom; however, when Jet hit a certain news channel, both of them looked at the screen with slight interest.

They were doing a story on what they now called the 'Red Dragon Massacre.' Vicious couldn't hold back a disgusted snort at the name, but remained quiet as a crime-scene investigator gave his rather distorted version of what he assumed had happened. It was sickening.

Seeming to agree, Jet shook his head and sighed subtly from the chair next to the couch and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. As he lit up, he noticed Vicious subtly eying the cigarette pack with the same hungry glint in his eyes that Spike always got when he had a nicotine craving; after thinking a moment, Jet finally clenched his jaw, swallowed his pride, and nonchalantly held out the pack, allowing one cigarette to slide outwards. Vicious stared at it a moment, then accepted without a word. He lit up with his own lighter, then they both just sat back and smoked for a while, the spell of nicotine blocking out the grave, lying voice of the newscaster.

Before long, the smoke inevitably drifted to Ed's part of the room and she coughed twice, then glanced over and started pretending to gag overdramatically. Jet and Vicious glanced over when she tipped over to the ground from her sitting position, her hands clutching her throat as she hammed up her act, complete with twitching and flailing, then bugged out her eyes and went limp.

After a moment, she opened one eye. Both men were still staring at her oddly. She didn't bother to stand up, instead swinging around into a lotus position. "Edward can't re-spiff Tomato up when—" she stopped to let out a real cough, "...when the room's all smoky-bombed," she finished. Jet exhaled once more, then stood up.

"Sorry about that," he said, understanding the truth behind her claim, then looked at Vicious and jerked his head in the direction of the ship's balcony. Not really caring either way, Vicious silently got up and followed him.

When they got there, Jet leaned against the bar and looked out upon the horizon, while Vicious remained at a slight distance from him and did the same. Jet's eyes clouded over a little; he had often done this with Spike, just stood on the balcony without a word. Now it was far different, but still it made him slightly nostalgic.

"...He thought he was going to his death, you know," Jet heard himself murmur after a moment, unable to get past the subject of Spike just yet. "Was like he planned it from the beginning."

Vicious' only response was to pull the cigarette away from his mouth and rest his elbows on the bar, and he remained silent for a time. The statement didn't surprise him at all. Spike _should_ have been going to his death. It _had_ been planned that way, though it had never been said. It had just been an unspoken, mutual agreement between them.

Receiving no answer, Jet continued. "He wouldn't tell me what it was about. Kept dancing around it instead of answering." He turned his head slightly to look at Vicious then, subtle determination in his eyes. "Care to enlighten me?" he dared ask.

Vicious took a long drag, then let out his breath slowly. "It's a personal matter," he said plainly. "Not your concern."

Something in Jet's expression became considerably cold, and for a long moment he said nothing.

"...You threw him out of a window, once. That's what I was told." He paused a moment, and when Vicious didn't deny it, he continued. "I found him on the steps; miracle he wasn't broken in half. I got him out of there, and waited three days for him to wake up. For three years I've watched him become all but suicidal whenever your name or 'Julia' is brought up, but he kept coming back, so I left it alone. _Now_, he's half dead and being held by some lunatic crime boss who decided to give _me_ an ultimatum." By now his expression was akin to a glower. "If _that_ doesn't make it my _concern_—"

"It was the last step."

Any anger that had been building up in Jet's demeanor rapidly dissipated in his surprise at the interruption, like air shooting out of a balloon. Calmly, Vicious continued.

"He'd been trying to live a lucid dream," he went on quietly. "The dream died with the woman. When he was forced to wake up, he went back, because it was the only thing left for him to go back to. The last loose end. Without them, he can't exist." Vicious paused to take a last drag before flicking his burnt-out cigarette into the water below, choosing his words carefully. He didn't intend for Jet Black to know anything more than was necessary, but based on what he'd seen of the bounty hunter and his level of loyalty to Spike, Vicious decided, he was entitled to something.

"I said before that it wasn't all because of the woman; it only began with her. Her restlessness introduced him to regret, and he began to question the order. He was distracted by the ideas she put in his head. That alone nearly got him killed.

"When he began to ask too many questions, the kind he had no business asking, his superiors began to doubt his loyalty. They had every reason to. Before their eyes, his ideals had changed. He was becoming a selfish, lovesick fool, and was ultimately digging his own grave.

"Once he got out, there remained only two steps, the first being the woman; and when he lost her, he'd resolved all things but one." He paused briefly, looking upon the sun's crimson reflection on the water, before turning his gaze to the horizon. "That is why he went back."

The thinly veiled bitterness in Vicious' tone didn't go unnoticed, nor the fact that somehow, he'd managed to get through the entire explanation without once mentioning how he himself worked into the equation. Whether it was deliberate or instinctive, Jet really couldn't tell.

"That explains the woman," he said at length, leaving the statement open-ended, in the hope that Vicious would clarify. "You haven't mentioned yourself once." Sensing slight annoyance in the younger man's demeanor, he turned his gaze outward again. "He's got a score to settle with you. I've got that much," he continued, getting the idea that Vicious was growing cross with the role of the storyteller and deciding to make clear what he already knew. "But there's something past that. Whenever you were brought up, it was like he'd go on autopilot. Like he was obligated to go, or like he owed it to you to show up." He blinked as he heard his own words, then looked at him again, quiet for a moment before speaking. "...Did he?"

Silence.

For the longest moment, Vicious seemed half-frozen, his eyes unfocused and slightly lowered. A slight breeze blew his hair forward, just enough to conceal his expression, if he even wore one.

It was only after Jet had begun to wonder just what he'd touched on with that question, that Vicious slowly pulled back from the bar, sliding his hands into his pockets and falling comfortably into his usual slouch. His eyes regaining their icy edge, he answered with a single word:

"Never."

Seeming to decide firmly that he no longer wanted a part of this conversation, Vicious turned away then, and headed silently back into the Bebop.

* * *

...Wow. I think that's the most Vicious has spoken at once in this whole fic so far. Huh. 

To my kickarse reviewers:

**VanillaRose-**I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Thanks in particular for the comment on the confrontation scene—that one was giving me all kinds of grief, so I really appreciated that.

**microfiber shoelaces-**I won't give anything away, but I will say that you'll find out what's up with Spike eventually, promise. :)

**Picon-**Lol, yes, that was a rather tough one to call. However, EVERYONE gets their ass kicked by Ed at some time or another (the whole Bebop crew, for one, and the continent of South America, for another...), and on top of that, Vicious isn't quite in the best shape yet. So, double-threat, Ed wins.

Look for an update soon! Thanks to all of you!


	6. No Reply

Disclaimer: HEY, GUESS WHAT!...I still don't own it. -.-

* * *

Chapter 5: No Reply 

For some time after Vicious went in, Jet had remained on the deck, mulling silently over the state of things. Part of him wanted to think he had made some sort of breakthrough just now, but a larger part knew he hadn't gained too much ground. He personally felt better with even the most ambiguous idea of why Spike did some of the things he did, but what good was that knowledge to the situation they were in? There was no other way of looking at it; this was a _mess_.

Well, he decided, it wasn't helping any more to stand out here and brood. However, just as he was turning around to reenter the ship, a shrill squeal of triumph echoed from inside, followed closely by a surprised yelp from Ein at being awakened so rudely.

Giving a sigh, Jet couldn't help but crack a faint grin as he rubbed the back of his head, his tension somewhat lifting. Well, at least some things didn't change. His curiosity mildly piqued, he turned and went inside to see what had gotten Ed so excited.

He found the Bebop's resident hacker just where he'd left her, doing a happy little jig while sitting in front of her computer and giggling a bit maniacally. Her computer screen was flashing wildly, and a closer look told Jet that the culprits were the strangely cute little symbols that appeared when Ed successfully hacked into something.

"What've you got, Ed?" he asked, leaning down to get a better look.

Moving fluidly out of her little victory-dance, Ed pulled her goggles away from her eyes and snapped them onto her forehead. With the push of a button, the jittering symbols were gone from her computer screen, leaving only a page of...well, gibberish, to Jet, anyway. "Uh...what are we looking at, here?"

"THESE are the confidential super-secret files of the Jade Crow syndicate!" Ed explained proudly. Then, her voice becoming playfully mischievous, she added, "Time to crack the cooooode..."

Her fingers moved quickly and precisely, and in seconds she had decoded part of the file. She skimmed the section, and after a moment, she gave a little bounce of delight. "AHAAAAA! Found the big boss! Jerry-person!" she announced triumphantly. There was a short silence after that, which was broken by a quiet sound of recognition from their unnoticed audience.

"Jericho Slaine..." Jet glanced over to where Vicious had perched on the near arm of the couch.

"Uh-huh!" Ed chirped, nodding.

"You know him?" Jet inquired, his eyebrows lifting in slight surprise. Vicious didn't answer for a moment, his eyes skimming over the file Ed had found.

"Not personally," he finally replied, sitting back again. "His name has been brought up before. He's a negotiator for the Crows."

"How high does that put him?" Jet asked, frowning in seriousness. Vicious shifted slightly, his movement the closest he would probably get to a shrug.

"Lower than some. Higher than most."

Jet was quiet for a moment, watching Ed quickly finish cracking the code, turning the meaningless symbols into words he could understand. "The Jade Crows..." he murmured after a bit, then looked back to Vicious. "What would _they_ want with you and Spike?"

To this, he received no answer. Vicious' eyes were turned slightly downward, narrowed in thought. By Jet's best guess, that loosely translated to 'I have no idea.'

* * *

Honestly, Vicious wasn't quite sure what to think just yet. It hadn't even occurred to him that the Crows may have been involved in this; it was an interesting development, to say the least, but it did very little to simplify things. If anything, the new knowledge had only made the situation more abstract. 

Silently he continued to look over the files that the unfathomable child continued to decode, but in the back of his mind, he began to retrace the last few months, slowly attempting to conjure up the exact circumstances under which he'd heard the name of Jericho Slaine. For several minutes he said nothing, ignoring the occasional fleeting glance from Jet, who had unconsciously placed himself protectively between Vicious and Ed.

He only broke briefly from his trance when Jet seemed to grow weary of trying to make sense of things and straightened, heading out of the room, while the child placed her laptop on her head and marched after him.

Once they'd gone, Vicious moved from his increasingly uncomfortable position to ease himself back down onto the couch, leaning back and letting out his breath as he allowed his thought process to continue.

He did remember _when_ the Jade Crows had last been brought up. It had been in a short meeting, several months prior, just before Mao had made his short-lived pact with the White Tigers. If he remembered correctly, in fact, their discussion had involved the Tigers as well. It had been one of several concerning how wise it would be to attempt an alliance with them, as the Dragons and Tigers had been at each other's throats for years. However, the farther he attempted to delve into the memory, the more the several discussions began to meld together in his mind, remaining nebulous and unclear.

Goddamned painkillers.

Well, no matter. As of yet, there was time enough for the memory to come back to him. Breathing in deep and exhaling slowly, Vicious let his eyes slip shut, almost able to feel the damned medicine slowly knocking him out.

When he woke, he was sure, the pieces would come together.

* * *

"I don't know what to make of it, Ein," Jet murmured as he sat down in his bonsai room, needing to talk to _someone_ who wasn't unconscious or balancing a computer on their toes at the moment. In response, the dog padded closer to him and sat down, looking at him expectantly. Sensing a request for him to elaborate, he continued. "If Vicious doesn't know the guy past his name, then we're just as in the dark as before. This whole setup is trouble." A small whine indicated that he at least had _some_ sympathy. 

Realizing for the thousandth time that he had every reason to be deserving of sympathy this time, what with what a goddamned mess this was, Jet allowed himself a discouraged groan, putting his head in his hands.

Giving another quiet whimper of agreement that this was indeed quite a predicament, Ein looked around the room, then hopped up on the table and nosed Jet's arm. When he looked up, Ein nudged forward Jet's communicator and sat down, lolling his tongue out hopefully.

Jet sent the dog a look, frowning slightly. "And who'm I supposed to call, huh? The police?" he asked wryly. In response, he received an encouraging bark, which was received at once by a skeptical shake of the head. There was no way that the Jade Crows wouldn't find out if he tried to call the police. No crime syndicate was that incompetent, he knew, and he had dealt with his share of them in the ISSP.

"Why don'tcha call Faye-Faye?" Ed piped up from across the room, performing a rather impressive act of keeping her computer in the air, lying on the ground and bicycling her legs to keep the laptop spinning.

Jet blinked. "...Faye?"

...Well, she certainly had no police connections to speak of, other than himself. If they looked at her record alone, there would really be no reason to suspect. It was worth trying, at least.

Silently, he took up his communicator and turned it on. So far, so good, it seemed, as he heard it crackle to life with familiar static. He carefully punched in the code to reach her, then lifted it to his ear.

It beeped. Jet raised his eyebrows. Hot damn, it looked like he was going to pull it off! It was hard not to congratulate himself as he was rewarded with a second beep—

"We're sorry. Your call has been disconnected. Please check galactic coordinates and try aga—"

It was at that point that Jet promptly shut it off. So, they weren't going to take any chances with him.

"...Damnit."

* * *

Ehhh...this one was short, but it needed to be here. And it decided it wanted to be done right there. Sooo...meh. Next one's longer, promise! 

To my über-nifty reviewers:

**BunnWw-**Thanks a lot! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

**microfiber shoelaces-**I agree completely about Vicious, that he isn't the moustache-twirling villain that a lot of people want him to be. Trust me, in this fic he has NOTHING whatsoever against puppies. -.-

**Shteve-**STEVE REVIEWED! (would glomp and give cookies but already did that) As for action, don't worry, there will be action, and plenty of it. :)

**VanillaRose-**...Know what, your review just made my day. The 'right' comment makes perfect sense, and I'm so flattered that you think it applies to this fic! Thanks so much, I love your reviews. n.n

**Picon-**Lol, no problem at all. Glad you're still liking it!


	7. Cat Blues

Disclaimer: (does the I-don't-own-ANNNNYTHING dance)

A/N: Though I doubt this applies to anyone who's been sticking with this fic so far, let me just warn you that if you have NOT seen Session 5: Ballad of Fallen Angels, then Vicious' reasoning in this chapter will make absolutely NO sense. So if you haven't seen it, go watch it before reading on! Either way, it's an awesome episode!

For everyone else, by all means, carry on. :)

* * *

Chapter 6: Cat Blues 

Jet was still shut up in his bonsai room when Vicious awoke, which frankly came as little surprise. From what he'd seen in the past few days, it seemed that the room served as the bounty hunter's sanctuary, to which he would retreat whenever there was something he didn't want to deal with. It was the closest Jet could get, Vicious supposed, to a defense mechanism against some of the grief that would inevitably find him now and then.

Sliding into a sitting position, Vicious streched a bit, testing not only his flexibility but his pain threshold. Perhaps now he could manage to get farther than the balcony, he thought with distaste; he hated weakness with a fervor, and being a victim thereof was beginning to grind on his nerves.

Therefore, it was in blatant defiance of the weakness that held him back that he stood, ignoring the ache that began to spread from his abdomen outward, then slipped his hands into his pockets and silently left the main room. There was a room that he had passed on the way to the bathroom that morning that looked decent enough for him to put to use.

In so doing, his mind gradually returned to the situation with the Jade Crows. At least now his mind was clear, he noted as he reached the object of his search and entered the room. He sent an uncaring glance out the large window therein, then brought out his hands from his pockets and fell easily into the stance for a warm-up kata. Practicing always helped him think.

Alright, he thought to himself as he began, taking note of what he could and couldn't do in his condition. He knew only a few key things about the Jade Crow syndicate: they were small but growing; they were willing to trade Spike for himself; they were obviously not working alone, based on what Slaine had said over the vidphone; and they had been worth mentioning among the Red Dragons just before he took it upon himself to assassinate Mao and Carlos...

..._Carlos._

The thought made Vicious give pause. Carlos had been the leader of the White Tiger syndicate, and around that time, the Tigers had quietly undergone an act of branching out. Catching wind of it, many smaller syndicates had jumped at the chance to appeal to the Tigers in the hope of forming an alliance with them.

Small syndicates like the Jade Crows.

Noticing that he'd stopped moving completely at the realization, Vicious proceeded again with the kata, now doing it mechanically, his mind elsewhere. Alright, so he had a starting point now. And...yes, that had been the reason the Crows had been brought up with the Dragons in the first place. It was the only time they had ever been a threat, for apparently they were the most prominent of the smaller syndicates, and were likely to strike the fastest. If the Tigers were going to join with anyone, it would have been the Crows; unless, of course, the Dragons beat them to it. An alliance between the Tigers and Dragons would have formed, as Mao had put it, 'an unstoppable force.' He was even so bold as to compare it to the force that was created when Vicious and Spike had first partnered up.

Vicious had quickly put an end to that nonsense.

And after that, if he remembered correctly, the White Tigers had been outraged, and refused all other offers. After all, their clan was notorious for its ability to hold a grudge.

If that was true, it had very likely been a slap in the face of the Jade Crows; and by this time, Vicious doubted that anyone in the organized crime community _didn't_ know that he had been behind it.

So. If he was anywhere close to being on the right track, then the Jade Crows were working with the White Tigers on this, and that was why they wanted him. He certainly wouldn't put it past the Tigers to hang on to his offense for this long. Assuming that he was correct about everything else, that only left the questions of what Spike had to do with it, why the two clans were working together, and whether or not the Crows really intended to give Spike up once they had Vicious himself. It wasn't difficult to guess what they wanted _him_ for, as he supposed it would be an understatement to say that neither clan thought too highly of him just now.

At this point his thoughts were paused once more, as a twist too far in the wrong direction sent a severe jolt of pain through his torso, stealing his breath for a moment and forcing him to give himself a short break. Easing carefully out of the position, he moved toward the wall to use it as a support and briefly closed his eyes.

Counting his breaths in the back of his mind, Vicious turned his attention to the present. He highly doubted that any of the information he'd just uncovered would be of any use to the bounty hunter, who happened to be slowing to a stop outside the room at that moment and was, most likely, sporting a disapproving frown. Not surprising. That was simply the man he was. He had made that very clear from the moment he had set foot in the Red Dragon HQ.

Letting his eyes slide open again, Vicious calmly met—sure enough—the very expression he had expected. Unfazed, he kept silent, watching Jet expectantly; if he had a reason for being there, let him talk.

At length, Jet seemed to perceive that he was being waited on, and his expression eased a bit.

"Got anything?" he asked, attempting not to seem too hopeful and succeeding to a point. At least he was keeping the lecture in his expression to himself.

As the ache in his abdomen continued to fade, Vicious slowly pushed away from the wall, glancing again out the window as he replied.

"I don't know why they have Spike," he said plainly; for that was, of course, what the bounty hunter meant. The taut silence immediately following the statement suggested that he had surprised Jet somehow; perhaps because, thinking back, this was the first time he had heard Vicious say Spike's name.

A stifled sigh, and the subject was dropped.

"...They've blocked out the signal around this ship somehow," Jet informed him after a brief silence. "No way to send anything out, to the police or otherwise."

Seeming to notice when Vicious reflexively stiffened at the mention of the police, Jet changed his pitch slightly. "Don't suppose you'd know how to get around that?"

Vicious shook his head silently, then seemed to think of something and regarded Jet with a strange, narrow-eyed expression that couldn't quite be placed. Unsure what was going through his head, Jet only stared back blankly.

Seeing that he clearly hadn't thought of the obvious solution, Vicious moved his eyes to just behind Jet, where Ed was rolling around with Ein and imitating his bark with rather disturbing accuracy.

Following Vicious' gaze, Jet's eyes fell upon the untamed child, remaining on her for a spell. He blinked.

As Ed turned to stare at Jet, her mouth still open in readiness to tug on Ein's ear, Vicious slipped his hands into his pockets once more.

"I'm not the one to ask."

* * *

"En-cr-yp-tion, dis-tr-ac-tion, al-ter-ca-tion, in-for-ma-tion..." Ed sang to herself absently, swaying comfortably from side to side as she saw to the blocked signal, while Jet reclined a bit in the chair behind her, watching over her shoulder. Once again, Vicious had made him feel like the resident dimwit, though this time it didn't seem like he had meant anything by it. Thinking about it, Jet brought himself to the conclusion that the culprit was just stress. It was Spike who thrived on situations like this, and Jet had no problem just playing the backup. However, when it came to taking the lead himself, he personally hated it. 

Thus, it was with a combination of relief and dread that he looked up when Ed announced triumphantly, "Allll done!"

"Really? That's it?" he asked with raised eyebrows, and was answered with a nod. Rubbing the back of his head, Jet took a glance at her computer screen. "Will they be able to tell they've been blocked?"

Ed shook her head vigorously. "Nope nope! Ed installed a loop-de-loop in the signal so they won't notice annnnything!"

"Good thinking."

Heaving a sigh, Jet turned to the vidphone. He knew this wasn't something he could handle on his own; thankfully, he also knew that Bob still owed him one last favor. If the ISSP couldn't do anything about this—and he _knew_ they could—his list of options would be cut to a fraction.

Developing a persuasive pitch in his mind, Jet reached out with resolve and punched in Bob's code.

One beep.

Two.

"Yeah?...Oh, hey, Jet."

Sending Ed a thumbs-up, Jet couldn't hold back a slight grin of triumph as Bob popped up on the screen. "Hey." Bob seemed at once almost suspicious at Jet's good mood, and scrutinized him for a moment.

"You alright, Jet?...I heard about the outcome of that Dragon fiasco. Sorry about your partner." That's right, the last time they had talked was when Bob had warned him to get off of Mars before the Dragons got to him or Spike.

"Yeah. Well, about that..."

By the time Jet was finished explaining his situation, Bob had already gone through the necessary phases of skepticism, uncertainty, and disbelief, and it was only now that he really seemed to be taking it seriously. Jet knew Bob believed him now because he had taken to a slow shaking of his head toward the end of the explanation, which meant that he was starting to absorb that yes, it was a bizarre situation, but a real one.

"...Alright, Jet. I believe you. I think you're nuts, but I believe you. So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Depends," Jet replied, cracking a lopsided grin. "How many more favors do you owe me?"

"Just one," Bob said pointedly, his brows slowly furrowing at Jet's expression. "...That doesn't mean I'm gonna do anything too crazy, Jet, but what do you need?" Alright, time to put on the persuasion.

"I need you to form a squad. That's all. Half the guys still owe me for something or another, so throw my name in if you have to. Once I know the arrival date and time, I'll let you know, and—"

"And what, we'll come to the rescue like the cavalry?" Bob asked incredulously. "You're insane, Jet. You were when you were with us and you are now. The ISSP doesn't tangle with the syndicates, you know that. And none of my guys are gonna put their asses on the line to save one guy they've never met. It isn't in their job description. I know you know that."

"Yeah, I do." Jet sighed, rearranging his argument. "But I also know that law enforcement _is_ in their job description. It's why they signed up in the first place. They're hired to save lives, and if you don't do anything, people are going to die!"

"People die all the time, Jet," Bob said soberly. "We can't save everyone in the galaxy. Look, I'm not telling you to join up with the syndicates or anything. I'm just saying it's easier if you do things their way. Less blood gets spilled that way." Jet knew very well why Bob couldn't meet his eyes while he said that; he doubted Bob believed it himself. "It doesn't sound like these guys want anything except that Dragon you're holding."

"Who says they're telling the truth about that?" Jet challenged, growing frustrated. "The syndicates aren't exactly notorious for their honesty, or their pacifism. There's something else going on beneath this trade they're asking for. I can feel it."

Bob only continued to shake his head, meeting Jet's gaze again. "Sorry."

Jet couldn't let it end with that. "Look. Just bring it up with the guys, alright? Then they can decide for themselves. I'll give you the date when I know it."

Bob finally gave a defeated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll bring it up. But don't count on anything, Jet. It isn't going to happen." With that, Bob's side of the vidphone clicked out, and Jet looked away.

That hadn't gone quite as well as he'd hoped.

* * *

...I really hope everyone was able to follow Vicious' brainwork there. Could you? -.o 

Random Tidbit: Why "Cat Blues" for this chapter? Well, in case you haven't noticed, the chapters haven't necessarily been titled for the songs themselves, but the titles in particular. The basic V-logic behind this chapter's title is that Jericho Slaine's character was inspired by the song "Macavity, the Mystery Cat" from Cats, the musical. Sooo, it seemed appropriate to have "cat" in the title of the chapter where everyone's trying to figure out how to deal with him.

...Okay. Just in case anyone cares. Yeah. Um. I'm going now. (points at review button as she slinks out of the room)

To my crazy-cool reviewers:

**VanillaRose-**:X My lips (/fingers...) are sealed, sorry to say. I'm so glad you're into it, though. :)

**Shteve-**Yes. I am doing it all to torture you, of course...AND SUCCEEDING BRILLIANTLY! (insert maniacal laughter) XD

**microfiber shoelaces-**Hmm...vacuums... (wanders off pondering) Lol, I did understand the puzzle-piece analogy, which was actually quite a good one for the situation right now. n.n

**Milky Wings-**Wow! What a wonderfully long review! For the record, it effectively turned me into a beaming, shiny-eyed fangirl, so thank you so much for the wonderful compliments. I'm honored that my fic is one of your first non-Spike/Faye ventures in fanfiction!

**Picon-**So glad I've piqued your curiosity! Yeah, right now a lot of things are up in the air, but you know what they say about what goes up...


	8. SPY

Disclaimer: Well, of course I own it—WHOA, did you see that pig fly by? That is CRAZY. o.o

* * *

Chapter 7: SPY 

As he apprehensively returned to the Bebop's main room, Jet decided that he was officially out of ideas. He could call Faye, but what good would it do? She obviously wanted nothing to do with him or Spike anymore, or she wouldn't have taken off. It wasn't her problem, and he had no right to drag her into it.

Crossing the room to go...hell, he didn't even know where anymore...Jet wearily noted how quiet it was, despite the fact that every current occupant of the ship was in the room at the moment. The only real noise was that of Ed's fingers against her keyboard, unless one counted the barely-audible snoring that Ein was emitting as he dozed next to her. Vicious was the most silent of them, having returned to the couch so as not to undermine the training he'd done by overworking himself. He wasn't asleep, but rather could be likened to a statue, remaining within his own thoughts. His arm was draped over his midsection, giving Jet reason to believe that he had probably skipped on painkillers. Not that it really mattered. They were running out anyway.

Jet heaved a quiet sigh, shaking his head a bit. He couldn't stand this. He needed something, needed to know _something_. This helplessness was driving him insane.

"How long would they _need_?" he asked at length, pausing briefly before turning his eyes to Vicious. The question was almost rhetorical, but _any_ kind of answer would have satisfied him right then.

"Clans differ," Vicious replied plainly. In other words, Jet was sure, Vicious was stating once more that just because he was in a syndicate, he didn't necessarily know everything about every syndicate. Frowning with frustration, Jet looked away from him.

"So you don't know what they'd need the extra time for."

"No."

"...Or what they'd have set up for when we get there?"

"No."

Jet was silent for a long moment. He was well aware that he was behaving very much like a cop in interrogation, but he really couldn't see any other options. He was getting nowhere.

Then, something occurring to him, he swallowed hard, then drew breath and spoke once more:

"...How would you do it?"

This time, it was Vicious who laid somewhat questioning eyes on him. The bounty hunter refused to look away from an apparently fascinating spot on the wall, but let the question linger in the air. He was serious. _Interesting._

Vicious turned his gaze away then, allowing himself a moment to consider the question. Catching sight of Ed's e-chess board on the floor nearby, he let his eyes go somewhat unfocused in its general direction, using it to picture the most likely situation.

The atmosphere that fell over the room, Jet noted, was not unlike what had settled over the deck before, just before Vicious had gone inside. Jet felt as though he was touching on something big, and a little dangerous. The man he was talking to had completely taken over an entire crime syndicate, with only a handful of men behind him; and Jet was about to bear witness to the workings of the mind that achieved something of that scale.

At length, Vicious finally spoke.

"They won't have had time to formulate an ideal scenario," he commented quietly. "Slaine said that you were an unexpected factor. You caught them off guard. They won't have anything overly complex." His eyes never left the chessboard, as though the scene was playing out upon it. "The Jade Crows are intelligent enough as a syndicate. They'll start with something predictable. Perhaps a dozen gunmen to supervise the tradeoff, then to see to it that you never leave the room." At Jet's frown, Vicious glanced at him briefly. "They aren't going to let you out of there alive. You're a liability."

His eyes returning to the board, Vicious continued. "The gunmen will be a front. They know that your line of work makes it necessary to know how to outdo the situation. You would get a sense of security from something simple and equivocal.

"Should you get past the gunmen—they should assume you will—there will be a trap waiting for the moment you relax your guard. People forget that a bullet isn't the only way to die.

"It could be a strategically-placed explosive hidden in the last man's sleeve. More likely, in yours. Or in Spike's." At that, Jet's eyes shifted; that's right, assuming they staged the tradeoff, he would have Spike to worry about, too.

"If there is more than one open floor, they may position a sniper to take you out from the second. One of the gunmen may drop during fire, feigning death, so that he can throttle you from behind when you drop your guard. Nothing involving more than that. They won't waste resources on you.

"There is also their trump card: the men stationed around this ship. Slaine made no implication that they would escort you to his location. Keeping you here is not their only function. Should you return here alive, you won't set foot inside this ship."

At once, as Vicious had known it would, Jet's gaze immediately shot to Ed, his eyes sharp with alarm. Jericho Slaine had threatened her too; and if Vicious was right, Jet was under no false impression that they would leave her alone. A glance at Vicious' expression only confirmed Jet's suspicion. That could not happen.

That said, Vicious went on quietly. "Whatever they're using the time for, the wait won't last much longer. A day. Two, at most. With each passing day, their advantage is slipping. It won't be allowed to go on longer than it has to."

Suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by their odds, Jet rubbed the back of his head, looking to the ceiling. "So we have no time," he finally murmured, mostly to himself. _And no plan,_ he added to himself silently. That little detail would have to change very quickly if either of them wanted to get out of this alive.

So, he had to think. Right now, he was the one with the advantage, as Vicious had made it obvious to him what the most immediate threat was. If they could get rid of the Crows outside the ship beforehand, Jet could leave the ship without worrying for Ed's safety. The problem: he had no idea how many Crows there were, or where they were.

"Alright," Jet began slowly, after thinking for a moment. "Say we take out these guys," he gestured toward the ship's entrance, "before the deadline the guy sets. That solve anything?"

"...Assuming word doesn't reach their employer," Vicious replied shortly. He was starting to look a bit ragged, his fingers occasionally giving a slight twitch over his midsection when he inhaled.

For a time, Jet was silent. His mind was finally beginning to work, the stalled gears resuming their turning; thus, it was in a bit of a daze that he wandered in the direction of his bonsai room. He only paused once before vanishing through the door, glancing back toward Vicious. "You really should take some painkillers," he added, in return receiving an expression that could only be described as disgust. Feeling something almost akin to amusement, Jet left it at that and turned to leave the room.

Meanwhile, Vicious attempted a deep breath, flinched, then let it out with disdain. It looked like it was either painkillers and sleep, or agony and think. The latter held one good point over the former, so agony it was, he decided as he carefully reclined backward. His eyes moved toward the doorway Jet had gone through, and lingered there for a moment before looking away.

It seemed that the bounty hunter was finally starting to use his head.

* * *

When Vicious opened his eyes again, he was briefly puzzled to find that Ed was suddenly napping in front of the door to Jet's bonsai room, rather than at her computer, where he was sure she'd been just a moment before. Noting the vague heaviness in his eyelids and that his body was oddly stiff, his face settled into a resentful scowl. So much for avoiding sleep. 

Thoroughly annoyed with himself, Vicious silently sat up, tiredly digging his fingers into his hair as he allowed the sleep-induced haziness in his mind to wear off. _Ridiculous,_ he grumbled inwardly. Being injured was a small inconvenience; it was the recovery period that brought out the worst in him.

In a halfhearted attempt to gather just how much time had passed, Vicious allowed his eyes to slowly pan around the room. The only things that had really changed were the positions of the girl and the dog, the latter of which was currently nowhere to be found.

Just as Vicious began to shift his position with the intention of standing up, a distinctly out-of-place sound caught his attention, and he slowly became very still. It was obvious that it was the sound of a ship's engine, and Vicious listened in silence as it began to draw nearer.

The sound wasn't at all uncommon—the Bebop certainly wasn't the only ship in this harbor—but something about it was wrong. The roar of this engine was close by. Very close. _Too_ close.

However, before there was time to even wonder at the ship's proximity, there was a sound like something being dropped through a chute, and the roar grew briefly louder as the pilot revved their engine before quickly speeding away.

Hm. It seemed that this ship was older than Vicious had originally guessed, for it to still have a chute for paper mail. The only places such a thing would be of any use anymore would be the traditionalist cities scattered here and there on Earth, but in this case, it looked to be proving its worth.

While he briefly considered this, Vicious remained where he was, in no hurry just yet to see what had been dropped off. Ed, on the other hand, had instantly awakened at the sound and sprung to her hands and knees, pointing in the direction of the mail chute in the manner of a hunting dog. Then, once the sound of the engine had faded, she leapt to her feet and darted over to the chute. Once there, she deftly took the small tube out of the chute and plucked the single folded note from the tube, a large grin spreading across her face.

Then, promptly placing the note on her head, she flung out her arms, pointed her toes, and made her way back toward the bonsai room in three flying leaps. "Snail-mail, whale-tale, Birdies sent Jet-person mail!" she announced with a happy pirouette, skidding to a stop as Jet stepped out of the room to see what the racket was about. With a jerk of her head, the note fluttered into the air, drifting for a second before she caught it with her teeth. "Shee?" she asked with newly-slurred speech.

With a calm that he had most certainly not possessed the last time Vicious saw him, Jet silently took the note from Ed, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist, his eyes quickly taking in what little was written.

Seeming to notice after a moment that he had an audience, Jet blinked out of his little world and read aloud the frank content of the note: "Tomorrow, one o'clock, Tharsis Police Station. Come by foot. Bring the Dragon." Then he glanced up, lowering the note. "That's all."

Vicious found that he really had no response, so he didn't pretend to. At least the Crows weren't trying to flatter themselves by doing anything extravagant. Blunt was good.

Meanwhile, Jet had refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket, for whatever reason.

"Hey, Ed," he addressed the young hacker suddenly, to which she stood up straight, swiftly raising her hand to her head in an odd salute. "Pull up that map of yours."

"Aye-aye, hai-hai, bye-bye!" she agreed, then stiffly turned on her heel, stuck her arms straight out, and happily 'flew' over to her laptop.

Vicious glanced at Jet questioningly, but only for a moment. Just what they were talking about was lost on him. Jet either didn't notice the glance or chose to ignore it, instead turning around himself and briefly disappearing into another room.

In the meantime, Vicious turned his attention back to the kid and her computer, mildly interested in spite of himself. While he watched, the push of a key brought up what he could only assume was the map Jet had mentioned. In the center was a small blue symbol, and surrounding it were four green ones.

Before Vicious could study it any further, the sound of footsteps alerted him to Jet's return. As he looked over Ed's shoulder, an expression of satisfaction came to the bounty-hunter's face.

"She worked it out while you were asleep," Jet informed Vicious, neither of them taking their eyes off of the map. "The green ones are the ships the Jade Crows are guarding from. They aren't too big. I'm guessing two to a ship. Three if they're stubborn."

Vicious remained silent. So far, whatever Jet was implying was sounding skeptical, but he would let him talk. Perhaps there was a foundation to his reasoning.

"They're positioned by all the openings on the ship. Anywhere we could escape from. That's the main door, the deck, the hangar, and the roof," Jet continued, pointing out each opening and its corresponding Crow ship. Finally, he glanced back toward Vicious. "You said it's their trump card. Not much use if it's gone when they need it."

Vicious was silent a moment, looking over the map, then looking back at Jet. "They'll have communicators," he finally stated, moving his gaze back to the computer screen. "If they hear shots fired, their employer will know."

"HA!" Ed burst out suddenly, her fingers flying to her keyboard and typing something in. After a second, a small message popped up on her screen, and she let out a wicked giggle. "Can't call the birdie-boss without any sig-nal..." she said mischievously, in a sing-song voice.

...Well. That solved _that_ problem.

However, there was still the issue of just how Jet planned on getting rid of a maximum of twelve trained criminals. He was barely off of his walking-stick as it was. There would be no contest.

Seeming to sense Vicious' doubt, Jet cleared his throat then, keeping his eyes on the map.

"How well do you think you can move?" he asked, at length.

"That depends," Vicious replied.

Jet was quiet a moment, briefly looking a bit torn, but the expression quickly vanished, and he swallowed hard, as though swallowing his pride.

"If I asked for...your help, with this..."

Really...perhaps it had indeed been his pride.

"...Then could I trust you not to turn on us?" he finally finished, glancing back.

Vicious took a moment to consider the question.

"That also depends," he finally answered, "on how far you plan on trusting me."

For a time, Jet's face was unreadable; then, silently, he pulled his gun from its holster at his waist, keeping it lowered but ready, just in case. That done, his other hand—which so far, had remained behind his back—came out, revealing the object it held.

At once, Vicious' eyes shifted, surprised in spite of himself. His gaze fixed on the object in Jet's hand; he'd been fairly certain that he wouldn't see it again.

Once he'd allowed Vicious a moment to grasp what this meant, Jet tightened his grip on the thing, bringing it a bit closer to himself. Getting Vicious' attention again, Jet eyed him gravely.

"If I give you this, then I'm trusting you further than I want to. And know that once this starts, I'll have one eye on them, but the other one's on you." He made a point of holding Vicious' gaze unwaveringly, his grip on his gun deliberately tightening. Subtly taking a deep breath, Jet then shifted the object in his hand, holding it handle-out in Vicious' direction. "Can you do it?"

Vicious allowed the stare-down to go on a moment longer, before letting his eyes travel back to the weapon in Jet's hand. For a long moment, he was silent.

Then, in reply, he reached forward and closed his fingers around the gold-tipped hilt of his katana.

"...Alright," Jet managed after a moment, stepping back and looking toward the stairway that led to the roof. "Let's do it."

* * *

HA! Something's HAPPENING! XD 

...(cough) Anyway, to my mad-spiffy reviewers:

**VanillaRose-**Lol, yes, Jet seems like a plan-making kinda guy, to me at least. So glad you could follow the reasoning! (whew)

**Shteve-**Hm, you think so?... :X (will tell nothing) Glad the one scene made sense to ya, though.

**microfiber shoelaces-**Yes, silly Jet...it was one of those moments that goes hand in hand with the 'Toys in the Attic' incident: "HMM, Faye is notorious for cheating at cards and I have no idea how she does it...HEY FAYE, LET'S GAMBLE!" (sigh) We love him, though. n.n


	9. Cats On Mars

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I don't think there'd be much point in writing fanfiction about it... (wanders off contemplating)

* * *

Chapter 8: Cats on Mars

The air was cooler than he'd expected, Jet noted silently as he stood alone on the roof of the Bebop. Dusk was encroaching quickly in Tharsis, and Jet was surprised at how good it felt to be in fresh air again. No one had shot at him yet; that was definitely for the better, he decided as he leaned calmly against the railing.

...Calm. That was a word that had had little to no chance of crossing his mind a short while ago. The difference? Now, he had a plan. This was a good thing. Jet liked plans. At times they were the only help he had in holding on to his sanity in the freak show that was his life.

For probably the hundredth time, Jet felt his gaze wander back toward the deck, where Vicious had positioned himself out of sight. He hoped to God that he had done the right thing by giving him that blade. He'd mulled over it for quite a while, and even now, after the fact, he still had his doubts. However, all said and done, it honestly turned out to be the only possible way for him to pull this off. Jet was very aware that he couldn't do this on his own.

And so, here he was, standing nonchalantly on the roof of his ship, using all the ISSP experience he possessed to figure out exactly where these Crows were hiding.

...Well. Technically, it was only one Crow he was looking for. He'd noticed the other one almost instantly upon stepping ouside. The Crows' ship was docked close enough to his that it could very likely be reached with no more than a well-aimed leap, and the Crow sat in the shadow of an overhanging ledge, watching Jet with a keen eye.

That just left Shooter Number Two, who seemed more adamant about staying hidden. Jet had 'absently' paced around the entire roof, checking himself to stay relaxed when Shooter Number One got suspicious and raised his gun, keeping it there for several seconds before deciding that Jet didn't plan on escaping; but no matter what angle he was standing at, the other guy was nowhere to be—

At that point, Jet's senses were jolted to attention as the door to the Crow ship abruptly slid open, revealing none other than Shooter Number Two.

_...That explains _that...

The new Crow eyed him for a moment before turning to his partner, muttering something to him while gesturing to his commlink. _Good,_ Jet thought to himself as the partner made an attempt to work the dead communicator.

Perfect. This was his opportunity.

Making sure to keep his movements relaxed and natural, Jet silently reached into his vest.

Just as he'd expected, the Crows were anything but incompetent. No sooner had his hand begun to move in that direction, when he suddenly became the target of two well-aimed longarms. They weren't shooting yet, but they were ready to. _Don't look at them, don't get defensive, ignore them completely,_ he reminded himself silently, continuing the movement. _Just get them off their guard._

From the corner of his eye, he saw them tense up when he grasped what he was looking for; and after that, he would have liked to see the look on their faces when, instead of a gun, he simply pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From his pocket–at this point their guns went up again—came nothing more than his lighter. Lighting up, Jet took his time smoking, keeping both items in his hands and waiting until they finally lost interest. Shooter Number Two headed around the corner to perch on the adjacent ledge, able to see Jet and be concealed at once. Shooter Number One kept watching Jet suspiciously for some time, however.

Well, until that guy looked away, nothing could happen. Not really a problem; all the more time to prepare himself, the way Jet saw it. He had one chance, and he couldn't miss.

Finally, the Crow slowly pulled out his own communicator and raised it to his mouth. Getting no signal, he frowned in annoyance and held it up, glancing down to fiddle with it. _Here we go._

The Crow only glanced back at him once, as Jet put his lighter back in his pocket and the cigarettes back in his vest. Then he glanced down again.

His mistake.

Before the Crow had time even to react, Jet had grasped a grenade and a gun—one in his vest, the other at his waist, at easy access from his pocket—and blown him into the next century. He never knew what hit him.

The moment he saw the guy's partner move, Jet dropped to his stomach on the roof to avoid the bullets that were suddenly flying his way, pulled out the pin of the grenade, and pitched it in the shooter's direction. He had to grimace at what happened after that; as much as he'd seen, it was never a pretty thing to watch a man get blown to bits.

Once his ears had stopped ringing from the explosion, Jet could clearly hear some more voices which must have belonged to the Crows' comrades. They weren't close yet; looking back toward the deck, Jet could only hope that Vicious had gotten the message.

* * *

Meanwhile, the atmosphere on the other side of the Bebop was a far cry from the first. The water was calm and placid but for a slow rippling in the wake of the explosion, and only one lone figure stood on the deck of the nearby Crow ship.

Leaning quietly against the side of the ship, Vicious focused only on steadying his breath as he calmly surveyed his handiwork.

It hadn't been difficult. They had made the mistake of underestimating him, perhaps assuming that his injuries were too severe for him to make the jump between ships while they were distracted with the gunfire. They were quick to know a mistake when they made one, however; Vicious could feel it in the way the first one jerked when he grabbed him from behind, one hand over his mouth and the other pulling the blade across his throat.

The other one hadn't even had time for _that_ much of a reaction. And now, the two of them were no more than paling corpses at his feet.

In fact, the only reason that the two of them weren't the _only_ ones on this ship by now was the fact that their assumptions hadn't been entirely wrong. The moment Vicious had stopped, a wrenching pain had taken hold of his abdomen, and even now it was still holding fast. It would do no good to continue with the plan if he couldn't do something as simple as breathing.

So, he waited, the two dead Crows sprawled on either side of the deck before him. A glance at their faces told him that they were young enough, but they were no fair-faced choirboys. The latter was the image, he was sure, that had most likely gone through Jet's mind when they had come to the matter of whether to kill them all.

Jet's argument had been sound enough. He didn't want to kill if it wasn't necessary. To put it frankly, he was thinking like the cop he once was, attempting to solve a problem with as few casualties as possible.

It was rather sickeningly idealistic, and Vicious had not hesitated in telling Jet as much. These were hired men with a job to do. If they were challenged, they would fight. To spare them would be to slit his own wrists.

After a long moment of apprehension on Jet's part, the bounty hunter agreed with Vicious' argument; however, he did have a decent suggestion. If they left one alive, they could get information out of him. Again, it was police reasoning; he was suggesting no more than an interrogation. The only alteration Vicious made was that they keep two instead of one; if dedicated enough, some syndicate men would take their own life before betraying the order. If that happened, a backup would be to their advantage.

In the end, that had been the comprimise Jet had needed. Few words had been necessary after that obstacle was out of the way; and now, here they were.

Once the pain in his chest began to slowly dissipate, Vicious rested the tip of his blade on the ground for stability, then dared one step away from the side of the ship. A dull ache throbbed slightly at the movement, but it was no longer red and paralyzing as it had been.

As he still had yet to hear any more gunfire from Jet's side of the ship, Vicious allowed himself to take his time. Success in this, after all, was more important than speed. For the sake of aesthetics, if nothing else, he then went first to one of the bodies, then the other, sliding each one into the harbor with his foot, where they disappeared beneath the water's surface. That done, he straightened himself up, listened for a brief moment, then leapt soundlessly back to the Bebop's deck.

Ah, there it was. The sound of gunfire.

* * *

_Damnit, damnit...where the hell is he?_ Jet thought to himself just a bit desperately, as the two Crows that had come running were quickly turning into five. His bad leg gave a dull throb, as if to remind him that he wasn't in any condition to take on five by himself. Neither was Vicious; Jet knew that too. He didn't like him, but he couldn't do this without him.

And that brought him back to the question of just what in God's name was taking him so long.

Jet knew Vicious was no amateur at what he did. Certainly, he would be done with the first Crows by this point, wouldn't he? The only thing capable of stopping him would be his own health. However, he'd said he could do it. It didn't seem like he had much reason to lie about that.

That brought Jet to the question of trustworthiness. Now that he thought about it, Vicious never had given him a straight answer as to where his loyalties lay. No matter what Jet wanted to believe, there was always that chance that Vicious had just gotten rid of the Crows and taken off in their ship.

However, against everything experience had taught him, something in Jet's gut told him that it wasn't going to happen that way. It couldn't.

...He hoped.

At that point, a bullet whizzed past his ear and quickly returned him to his more current problem. He couldn't stay ducked down on the roof of his ship forever. It looked like he'd just have to do what he could.

Daring a brief glance outward, Jet found that the two Crows that had first responded to the explosion had now been joined by three others, who looked like they'd come from the direction of the main door. However, he only was able to get a glimpse before he hit the ground again, just in time to avoid the rain of bullets that shot in his direction. They weren't idiots, he reminded himself as the thunder of the guns ceased. They weren't going to waste their bullets unless he gave them a target.

Well, if they wanted a target, he would give them a target.

Taking care to stay low to the ground, Jet carefully slipped out of his vest, making sure to take all the grenades out first, to avoid a particularly gruesome failure on his part. Then he gave himself a moment, sucked in his breath, and chucked the vest outward, in the direction of the wind.

Another thundering of gunfire told him that they'd taken the bait, and with a speed he hadn't had to use in a while, Jet shot forward, aimed quickly, and fired at the first Crow he could focus on. His years in the ISSP had taught him well; the aim was true, and the Crow went down. Jet was ducked down again before the others could make him follow suit.

_...Okay. You got one. Now what?_ Jet couldn't help but give a small huff of annoyance. He highly doubted that they would fall for the same trick twice, and even if they did, there were only so many things he could throw. It would be enough of a pain in the ass to fish his vest out of the harbor once this was done with...

Just then, a strange sound reached Jet's ears, followed by three gunshots that definitely weren't in his direction. His curiosity piqued, Jet allowed himself another glance.

The sight before him gave him such relief that he could have collapsed. The sound he'd heard had most definitely been a Crow's dying protest; and with his blade still lodged through the unfortunate Crow's spine, Vicious had apparently used him as a shield against the bullets of the Crow's comrades, for he was unharmed. He didn't even acknowledge Jet but for one quick, expectant glance in his direction.

_Got it_. Keeping his gun at ready, Jet shot up, braced himself, and vaulted over the rail, sliding down the Bebop's sloped exterior in their direction. One of the Crows seemed to find him more interesting than Vicious, but thanks to a stroke of luck on Jet's part, he managed to catch the Crow in the arm on the way down, just throwing him off balance enough that Vicious had time to wrench his katana free and put it to better use in the wounded Crow's gut.

By that time, Jet had made it down the side of the Bebop, coming now to a ledge at the bottom. Seeing his only option, he winced slightly in preparation, then used it as a springboard to propel him to the Crow ship.

He didn't have time to think about how his leg now felt about ready to fall off, or to marvel at his success in making the jump as he landed at one of the Crows' feet. All he could do instead was to stand up and, in the process, to show the Crow what a metal fist in the gut felt like.

The lifeless _thud_ of the unconscious Crow hitting the ground was closely echoed by another, and Jet looked up in time to see Vicious straighten up, trembling only slightly from the exertion, and silently sheathe his katana. By the look of the welt that was already beginning to form on the side of the last unconscious Crow's head, it was clear that the katana's hilt was no less fearsome than its blade.

The silence that descended then was abrupt, but welcome. After allowing himself a subtle deep breath, Vicious acknowleged his audience and met Jet's gaze without a word.

_...Okay._ As though, in their silence, they had managed to confirm something, both of them reanimated then, disposing of the dead ones and inspecting the unconscious ones before hefting them back into the Bebop.

* * *

Once he'd dumped off the Crow he'd brought in, Vicious had no problem taking a backseat while Jet disarmed and restrained the two. Returning to his perch on the arm of the couch, Vicious took an opportunity to briefly close his eyes, for it had taken more effort than he cared to think about to keep from buckling at the waist when he brought the Crow inside. It seemed that his unhealed body was feeling less agreeable with every passing moment.

For a short time, he kept his eyes closed, only dimly allowing the sounds of Jet tightening the ropes and Ed's enthusiastic gibbering to penetrate the back of his consciousness. A faint thumping against the opposite wall told him that something had pleased the dog, though that sound ceased after only a moment. Beyond that, the only other sound he cared to listen for was the breathing of the two Crows.

After listening a moment, Vicious silently opened his eyes, instantly letting them fall upon one Crow, the blonde one that Jet had brought in. His breath was starting to quicken slightly. He would be awake soon. The other one, who had swiftly become acquainted with the hilt of Vicious' katana, would be a bit longer.

By now, Jet had retired to his chair and busied himself with reloading his gun. Vicious observed him in silence for a bit, then returned his attention to the Crow. Ed seemed to have entered into a cease-fire against the two, and now sat back on her heels, peering sideways at the Crow in question through her goggles.

Just as Vicious moved his gaze from the girl to the Crow, the latter began to squint as his mind approached consciousness. To that, Ed abruptly snapped out of her pensive state, alerting the Bebop—and likely the rest of Tharsis—to his movements with a delighted squeal.

"Wakie, wakie, WAKE-UP CAAAAAAALL!" she announced gaily, proceeding to flip backward and stand on her hands, clapping her feet with relish. From across the room, Ein seemed to be heartened by her jubilance and trotted over to get a better view, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. Jet looked up, took note of the Crow's condition, and got to his feet. Vicious only remained where he was. Jet was the cop. Let him interrogate.

The Crow's eyes heavily slid open, then widened when he found he couldn't move his arms. Jet managed a faint smirk of satisfaction.

The interrogation had begun.

* * *

To my superbly excellent reviewers:

**VanillaRose-**Yay! I'm so glad you approve! n.n It was only when I'd already decided that the scene MUST exist that I realized that Vicious was much more intelligent than myself...(meo.o;;) so it's great to hear that you liked it!

**jdchs-**o.o Wow, I'm floored that my li'l old fic got such an enthusiastic response from you! Addicted? Wonderful! (happy-dance) I hope the rest of the story meets your expectations as well as the first part seems to have. Thanks so much! n.n

**Shteve-**Yes, it shall be fun!...Well, it was fun to write, at least. The update's coming soon, so no worries, ne?

**Picon-**Ah, college stuff...I've no room to complain, as that'll be me next year...(gulp) Buuut anyway, indeed, things are being set into motion. It's wonderful to see you pondering it :)


	10. Clutch

Disclaimer: (----- (means I don't claim that Bebop belongs to me)

* * *

Chapter 9: Clutch 

All told, the interrogation hadn't taken nearly as long as Vicious had expected. It became clear to him early on that Jet was not at all unskilled at doing the job. In the security of his former occupation, the bounty hunter seemed to take on an entirely different demeanor, exhibiting a calm not unlike that which he had possessed when Vicious had first awakened. The transformation was subtle, but an interesting one to witness.

That said, Vicious wasn't too modest to acknowledge his own role in the developments that took place. Even when the first Crow resolved to remain stonefaced to every inquiry, every now and then his eyes would find their way to Vicious, flick to the blade at his waist, then quickly dart to the floor and sink back into a motionless scowl. Vicious' presence had him on edge. That, along with the added threat of Jet being rather good at what he did, made it less than a surprise when the Crow finally lost his nerve and started backtalking.

After that, it had all gone quickly enough. That first Crow turned out to be the reckless one of the two, for once he had worked his way out of the ropes that held him in the manner of a Houdini, he had bolted out of his chair to...hell, who knows what he was trying to do? Either way, he was run through by Vicious' katana before he could move a step.

By that time, the other Crow had come to, just in time to witness the failed escape attempt. His only response to his partner's end had been to flinch and silently look away, but after seeing what could happen if he tried to challenge them, he turned out to be much more cooperative. He told them all he knew, though it wasn't much. All they were able to get out of him was that they wanted Vicious for some kind of execution. Something having to do with an alliance. When Vicious spoke to him for the first time, with the question of whether the White Tigers were involved, the Crow had thought so, but was no more certain than that.

Finally, when it got to the point that they had wrung him dry of information, Jet had motioned to Vicious and headed to the deck, Ed and Ein in tow, to figure out what to do with the Crow. However, they had not been out of the main room for more than a minute before the Crow solved Jet's problem for him, cutting through the rope with a concealed pocketknife and seeming to decide that he didn't feel like living any longer after betraying his clan. One gunshot, which effectively startled Jet out of his skin and sent Ein into a chorus of barking, and that was that.

At that point, as though it had been triggered by the shot itself, a strange calm had slowly settled over the Bebop. Hardly a word was spoken as Jet and Vicious laid the Crows to rest in the harbor, or while Jet then attempted to put the main room back into some semblance of order. Even Ed was silent when the show was over, announcing her mood with a yawn that probably could have swallowed a small planet, then drifting out of the room to promptly pass out in the middle of the hall. Even in Vicious' case, his body seemed determined to have the last word after being so mishandled; he had stayed up for a bit, but the moment he hit the couch again, he was out for the night.

That only left Jet, with little company but for the thick, almost-eerie silence that had overthrown his ship. In truth, he really didn't quite know what to do with himself now. He felt like he'd been going all day—actually, he _had _been—but now, his hands were suddenly empty. There was nothing more he could use them for; so, he shoved them in his pockets and took to wandering aimlessly around his ship, absorbed in thoughts that even he couldn't quite decipher. This was the part of the plan that he hated: the part where all they could do was wait.

For a while, that was all Jet did. He knew he should probably sleep—midnight had come and gone while they were disposing of the bodies, after all—but something stubborn in him just didn't want to. There was too much to think about. He didn't even notice, until he happened to turn around, that Ein had taken to following him in his meanderings.

Coming to a halt, Jet took a moment to eye the dog. "What are you doin'?" he asked at length, suddenly getting the feeling that he was being checked up on.

Ein only tilted his head at Jet, giving a small whine.

For a long moment, a small staring contest ensued between man and beast. The silence seemed to grow even heavier as the seconds passed.

Finally, Jet gave a sigh. "Alright, alright..." he grumbled, as though the dog had just given him a lecture, and started heading in the direction of his room, Ein keeping close at his heels and panting slightly with satisfaction. Once they reached the hall, Ein immediately gravitated to Ed, curling up close by, but at a safe enough distance to avoid any flailing limbs. As he opened the door to his own room, Jet took one last glance at the unlikely pair before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

Alright, so the dog had the right idea. The moment Jet set foot in his room, it finally seemed to click in his mind that he was _done_ for today. He had done all he could possibly do with the time he was given, and the only thing allowed on the agenda now was sleep.

And right now, that was sounding like a very good plan.

* * *

For having so much on his mind, Jet slept surprisingly well. He wasn't quite sure what time it was when he awoke again, but he could tell right away that he wasn't the first. It was hard _not_ to know when anyone was awake on this ship. In the main room, Jet found that not only wasn't he the first one up, but he was the last. Ed had her goggles snapped over her eyes as her fingers danced over her keyboard, singing a little song in which she named every possible phrase that rhymed with 'e-mail.' On the other side of the room, Vicious was just setting his sheathed katana aside as Jet passed, and chose to take no notice of him. A moment of alarm flashed through Jet before he happened a glance at the coffee table, upon which lay a damp cloth and a whetstone. At that, Jet stifled a sigh of relief; if nothing else, at least the guy took care of his toys. 

The only soul in the room that seemed to even recognize that he was there was Ein, who then made a point of bolting into the kitchen to sit hopefully by his bowl. Jet looked at him a moment, then shook his head and went straight for the fridge. If the dog was expecting dog food, he was going to be disappointed. All they had left were bellpeppers, so that's what he got. Bon appétit.

It looked like fate was finally deciding to give Jet a short break, for that morning had the decency to unfold slowly for him, and quietly. Well. Ed notwithstanding.

Much as he would have preferred not to even think about the day before, Jet did bring it up with Vicious once he'd finished feeding Ein, and the Dragon filled him in on what the Crow had probably been referring to.

"It isn't unheard of," Vicious replied when asked about the execution. "Ritual execution is a favorite method of the White Tigers. Normally only used for rival bosses and long-standing grudges."

"Grudge?" Jet raised an eyebrow from where he leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. "Then what did they want Spike for?"

Vicious' eyes darkened slightly, but he answered nonetheless, only a small note of bitterness making its way into his voice. "He was powerful. The favorite of Mao. If he had chosen a successor, it would have been Spike. If anyone tried to rebuild the Red Dragon clan now, he is who the men would follow."

"That doesn't make any sense!" was Jet's reply, his brows knitting in confusion. "He's been out of that game for years. Why the hell would they think he'd jump back in now?"

"He has already done that." Vicious briefly looked Jet in the eye as he pointed out that fact, as if for emphasis. "They don't know what he planned on doing after. Better to be rid of him before they can find out."

"Shoot them before they shoot you..." Jet found himself muttering to no one in particular, in recollection of something Faye had once claimed was her motto. From the sound of it, she wasn't the only one.

As Vicious brought Jet up to date with what he now knew about their ordeal, the morning that had begun so leisurely seemed to grow bored with the pace, instead choosing to fly. By the time Jet had been told all he needed, gotten everyone fed, and prepared himself for the day, he could practically feel every minute slipping through his fingers. It was suddenly less than an hour before they would have to leave, and the hell if he felt ready. All there was to do now was to gather up his firepower from all the various hiding places around the ship. Whenever Spike decided to tangle himself up in the syndicates, he took every piece of artillery he could find. If that was what he needed, then it was the least Jet could do to follow his example.

* * *

The kid had been at it for three hours now. 

Vicious really hadn't paid any mind to her that morning when she first sat down at her computer with the announcement of "E-mail, e-mail, seeeeeecret e-mail!" It didn't seem out of the ordinary when an hour passed her by in that same spot. Even her spontaneous outbursts of "HA!" or the occasional giggling fit weren't too far-fetched, based on what Vicious had seen of her.

At that point he had gone into the other room to train for a while, so if worse came to worse, he wouldn't be going in cold. Thankfully, his body seemed more compliant today, after getting a decent (in Vicious' opinion, ridiculous) amount of rest. Careful not to overdo it, he had then returned to the main room, only to find Ed in the exact same spot, grinning madly at the screen. A lot of strange people had crossed his path in his time, but he couldn't think of any who were quite like this kid.

Vicious had hardly stepped into the room, throwing a glance at the girl, when Jet appeared in the other doorway, looking less than thrilled at how quickly time was passing. A glimpse of the two visible guns at the bounty hunter's waist told him that Jet seemed to have prepared for the worst; if he was carrying enough artillery that not all of it could be hidden, then there was no question that he was worried.

"Five minutes," Jet informed him simply, then turned away without seeming to expect a response. He didn't get one; Vicious merely snatched his trenchcoat from where it was draped on one of the couch's arms, then pulled it on in one swift motion.

Meanwhile, Jet observed Ed's mysterious project with a hint of suspicion. "What are you doing, Ed?" he questioned, taking a step towards her.

"Noooooooothing," she drawled, hunching over the screen more closely. "Top-secret, super-confi-DENNNNtial, for Ed's eyes only!" was as far as she cared to go in explanation. Jet raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, then took another step forward in attempt to see just what was so important. However, Ein immediately jumped to his feet from where he'd been dozing next to her and growled at him.

Jet frowned at the dog. "What?" he asked, as if Ein could explain himself. "Don't tell me you're on her side?" He reached in with his left arm to move Ein out of the way, but the dog refused to be moved and instead leapt into the air, latching his jaw around the metal of Jet's arm. Jet jerked back with the surprise element, then loosened and lifted his arm to eye-level. Ein held fast, easily dangling from his arm. "Alright, fine..." he said, looking at the dog oddly. In reply, Ein released his arm and dropped to the ground, landing on his feet and returning to his original position. "So much for 'man's best friend,'" Jet muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. Three minutes.

With a last quick look around the room to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, seriousness found its way into the air around him. Didn't _look_ like he was forgetting anything important...except maybe his nerve...

"Ed," he addressed the girl again, continuing his scan as he spoke, "we're gonna be gone for a while, so don't open the door for anyone until we get back, alright?"

"Yes, yes..." she replied impatiently, her fingers never slowing.

Getting the feeling that he wouldn't receive much more than that from Ed, Jet shifted his attention to Ein, just meeting the dog's eyes for a second. Once the second had passed, the dog almost seemed to nod in agreement with whatever had just been exchanged, then laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

"Jet." He glanced up at the sound of his name; he almost didn't recognize it, coming from Vicious' throat. Come to think of it, this was the first time Vicious had addressed him at all. One look in the Dragon's direction, and he knew that he was out of time. Without a word, he straightened back up, glanced around once more, and headed for the door.

* * *

Not a single word was spoken on the brief walk to the station. The day was cool but humid, the air weighing down on them without restraint. Jet took to glancing at his watch every couple of minutes, making it clear just how calm he wasn't. Vicious, on the other hand, walked a path of seeming indifference. He knew, more or less, what was coming; it was only a matter of how ready they were for it. 

If Jet didn't know better, he would swear that Tharsis City was a ghost town; he had never seen the streets so unpopulated. Now and then a kid would run by, chasing after his dog, or they would pass some old men arguing over a card game or something, but other than those infrequent interruptions, the only sounds in the air were birdsongs and footsteps.

Just when Jet was finally able to put himself on autopilot for a while, disappearing into his thoughts while his feet took him in the right direction, he realized that the two of them had reached the block upon which the station was located. _Damnit._

The moment they set foot inside the police station, Vicious suddenly seemed a bit more interested in their surroundings. His eyes traveled over every soul in the establishment, pausing briefly on one person here and there.

He had known little about the Jade Crows to begin with, but now he was beginning to see how they worked. Of everyone in this room, not counting himself and Jet, only about one in four of them was an honest policeman. Everyone else carried the telltale glint of confidence in their eye, the shade of authority in their stature, or even just the carelessness to stiffen slightly when their eyes fell upon the two of them. They had all but irreparably corrupted the law enforcement of Tharsis City.

Predictably, the woman behind the front desk carried such a glint as well. She didn't bother with appearances; one glance at them, and she stood from her chair, turning toward the hall on the far right with a gesture for them to follow.

She led them through a few nondescript corridors without a word. As they neared the back of the station, Vicious noted, they were passed by fewer and fewer legitimate cops. By the last hallway, there were none to speak of. Instead of continuing as they had been, as this hall ended in an exit, the Crow slowed to a stop, pulling out a card to unlock the last door on the right, which sported a small plate reading, 'Employees Only.'

Once the door swung open, the Crow stepped aside, throwing them a pointed look. Unable to do much else, the two of them went in the room before her, keeping quiet as she stepped in after them and locked the door behind her.

That done, the Crow slipped the key-card back into her pocket, this time coming out with a small keypad. Aiming it in the general direction of the back wall, which appeared to be cheap and movable, made up of off-white slats, she began to punch in a code, paying no attention to the other two occupants of the room.

One last digit, and Jet's eyes darted toward the back wall at the sound of machinery beginning to shift. Before his eyes, two of the wall-slats slowly parted, inch-by-inch revealing the inner compartment of an elevator.

Stepping over to it, the Crow reached out a hand to hold the doors open, suddenly acknowledging Jet and Vicious' presence again.

"Get in," she commanded shortly, following them attentively with her eyes as they did so.

_Damn..._ Jet thought to himself as they stepped into the elevator with her. _What the hell is this?_

The elevator they were in was actually fairly large, as though it wasn't just used for transporting people. It was nothing flashy, the most expensive bit probably being the carpeting of its floor, but then, he supposed that crime syndicates had more important things to worry about than the quality of their elevators. Not a word was said as the compartment automatically began to lower once the doors closed. As far as Jet was concerned, the thing might as well have been lowering into Hell. Since his ISSP days, he'd told himself and told himself that he wouldn't get mixed up with the syndicates; and yet, here he was, in an elevator with two mobsters, about to either save his ex-con partner or die trying. Funny how the world worked.

A noticeable chill cooled the air in the elevator as it slowed to a stop, and the three occupants of the compartment received a small gust of air as the doors slid open and the pressure of the underground kicked in.

Right away, two men in long, dark green trenchcoats with silver trimming stepped in front of the opening, guns in hand. Hearing the safety of another gun click off, Jet glanced over to see that the Crow who had accompanied them also had her gun pointed at them. A jerk of the gun clearly told them to get out.

This they did without words or heroics, followed by the Crow, who snatched an identical trenchcoat from one of the other clan men in passing when he held it out to her. Without slowing her stride, she quickly slipped it on and took the lead once again.

Looking around, they found themselves in a large warehouse with an upper balcony adhering to the perimeter. Crates were stacked against walls and away from them, as well as several carts lined up here and there. Those, Jet guessed, were what the elevator was made for.

Meanwhile, the first Crow went to one of the others—the one who had handed her the trenchcoat—and spoke quietly to him for a moment. When she'd finished, he nodded once, then left them, vanishing through a door that Jet assumed led to some kind of stairwell. How else could they get to that balcony?

So far, Vicious had kept up his veil of indifference flawlessly. If Jet's mind hadn't been running rampant in all directions, he might have stopped a moment to be impressed or annoyed, if not both.

All four pairs of eyes looked up when the door to the probably-stairwell creaked open once more. The light from the inner room silhouetted three forms this time, rather than one, the second of which was carelessly supported between the other two. Jet didn't even notice he was holding his breath as the door was closed behind them, and as he was gradually more able to make out who they were in the dim light.

And the moment he could see, it took everything in Jet to restrain himself from shouting in either joy or rage—he hadn't decided yet—when he saw that the limp, trembling form between them had a crown of unruly green hair.

He had seen Spike half-dead before. Several times before, as Spike always managed to get himself roughed up somehow; but that didn't mean that it ever got easier. As he got a closer look, Jet almost wanted to avert his eyes. The Crows had obviously spent as little time on his injuries as humanly possible, and his left arm was held very stiffly against him, as if he had jammed it somehow. He seemed like he was half-conscious, but his eyes were squeezed shut, so it was hard to tell.

One of the Crows holding him, the one who had gone to get him, glanced at the woman who had led them; one curt nod from her, and he took Spike away from the other Crow, then all but threw him in Jet's and Vicious' general direction. Vicious' arms instinctively shot up of their own accord, just in time to catch Spike's shoulders in them.

The moment Vicious' hands touched him, Spike's eyes flew open wide and looked straight into his. A thousand questions flooded into his wide-eyed stare, and for a moment the two of them were frozen in eyelock. Vicious' hands unconsciously tightened their grip on Spike's arms for a moment; then, just as quickly as he had caught him, Vicious turned Spike over to Jet.

"He's drugged," Vicious murmured quietly, his first words since they'd left the ship. "Could come down anytime." Jet nodded, comprehending the information and making a note that if they lived through this, to never, _ever_ let Spike leave the ship again.

In the few seconds it took for this to take place, the four Crows in the room had sent subtle, pointed glances toward each wall of the warehouse, lingering at certain stacks of crates or carts, then abruptly shifted their attention to Vicious.

The woman, who seemed to be the ringleader at least among these few, was the one who addressed Vicious. "You. Dragon." He met her eyes in silence, and she gestured to the door with her firearm. "This way."

Without a word, Vicious obeyed, undaunted. One of the men who had confronted them at the elevator opened the door for him; Vicious didn't even dignify him with a glance.

Jet tensed up, clutching Spike's shaking form to him a little more tightly as Vicious calmly disappeared into the next room. The moment the door closed, the air in the room suddenly felt very wrong, making Jet's stomach jump slightly. He knew his intuition was almost always on target, and unless it was failing him now, that could only mean—

His thoughts were both interrupted and confirmed when he heard the sounds of several guns being cocked, from all around him. His pulse racing, he glanced around the room, trying to find where these shooters were hiding; finding only that he couldn't, he internally shook himself to stay calm.

"We'd like to thank you for your cooperation," the woman said, making Jet's eyes dart back to her, "but your services won't be needed anymore."

* * *

To my spifftacular reviewers: 

**VanillaRose-**After this chapter, there shall be about seven more chapters. Or six and an epilogue. However you wanna see it, I s'pose. Just for the record, I love your reviews. n.n

**Shteve-**Yeah, well. For whatever reason, that part of the scene didn't want to be written that way—and either way, I've gotta give the guy a break, after being all shot up and roughed up and...roughed up more... (shrug) Sorry to disappoint you, but don't worry, that is hardly the only action sequence in store.

**Bob the barbarian-**o.o Wow, you devoted a whole night to this fic? That's CRAZY! And AWESOME! Thanks for that. As for Vicious, well, it's an interpretation. I know I've seen several versions of Vicious on this site, from the considerably barbaric to more civilized than my version; guess it's all a matter of opinion, what with the whole five episodes we get of him. (shrug) Either way, thanks so much for the review!

**Picon-**n.n Yeah, I kinda felt bad for him too, lol. As for the interrogation, you shall find out very soon. :)

**jdchs-**(LOL) Yes, I love 'im too. Vicious is such fun. Trust me, this isn't any 10-chapter fic; technically, it just got to the halfway-mark last chapter, so there's plenty to go. I agree about Jet and Vicious making a decent team; that was part of the reason I decided to write this in the first place, after seeing that, GASP, there were no fics at all with Jet and Vicious as the main characters! It had to be done. Thank you so much for your reviews! They brighten my day! n.n

**microfiber shoelaces-**(blink) ...Well, okay then! Perhaps this chapter will give you more to remark upon. Thanks for reviewing nonetheless! 


	11. Green Bird revisited

Disclaimer: (see last nine chapters—ten if you count the prologue...)

A/N: And here, ladies and gents, begins the reasoning behind the rating of this fic. What can I say, sometimes there are situations that just call for a good, loud "(CENSORED)," and to be honest, I am extremely paranoid about underrating and being smote by the Powers That Be. Just letting ya know. On with the chapter. n.n

* * *

Chapter 10: Green Bird revisited

The moment the words escaped her lips, the room erupted into gunfire.

_SHIT!_ Jet quickly dove to the ground, shielding Spike's body with his own as he reached into his vest. In the split-second he was down there, his eyes briefly scanned the room in search of cover as he did so, stopping when they fell upon a few crates piled next to a counter.

Without hesitation, Jet closed his hand around the object he'd hidden in his vest—a grenade—and pulled the pin out with his teeth, then threw it in the direction of the thugs blocking his way to the counter. "Get ready to move," he murmured to Spike, not really caring whether he was heard or not, then braced himself as the grenade he'd thrown exploded, throwing Jade Crow thugs left and right and clearing a path. "Now!" Jet blurted, yanking Spike to his feet and bolting for cover. They slid down behind the counter, and Jet took advantage of the confusion to pull both guns from his belt and take out as many thugs as he could.

They barely had their cover for a moment before two Crows jumped over the counter, guns at ready. One of them aimed at Jet, while the other pointed his gun at Spike. "Hell no," Jet heard himself murmur before shooting the one targeting him, then tackling the other one to the ground. He wrestled with the man briefly, then quickly ended the struggle by pulling back his left fist and slugging the man in the jaw. After that, he barely had time to grab Spike and jump out of the way before a grenade blew the counter into pieces.

Thinking quickly, Jet dove behind the piled crates and kicked them over, providing them with more decent cover. From there, all he could do was stay down and emerge only to take quick shots. Right away he could tell that his crate-shield wouldn't last long; each crate was only so sturdy, and it didn't take many bullets to blast them to pieces, sending hundreds of vials full of undealt drugs rolling everywhere.

Meanwhile, Jet also had to take on the task of gunning down any Crows who managed to climb over what was left of the counter, towards Spike. Even if Jet didn't live through this, damn him to Hell if he would let that happen to Spike.

However, more and more thugs were starting to flock near the counter. Impossibly outnumbered, Jet shot them down, then bolted away from his post to fight off any more that made an attempt. As he was running, he suddenly felt a burst of fire explode in his left side. A yelp of pain escaped his throat, and he dove down behind the counter's remains. His right hand flew to his side, and he winced when it came back covered in blood.A curse tore itself fromhis throat anddrowned in the gunfire.

Suddenly he felt a hand clamp down on his right shoulder; instinctively he whirled around, cocking both guns and pointing them straight at—

Jet's eyes widened a little and he quickly lowered the guns. Still shaking slightly, but with lucid eyes, Spike sent him a weak, lopsided grin. "Need some help?"

* * *

Vicious' fingers absently played at the hilt of his katana as the door closed behind him, leaving him in a pitch-black room. The look in Spike's eyes had thrown him slightly off; he'd seen those eyes show many emotions, but the one he'd received just moments before was unreadable, even for him. Maybe it was the drugs, he considered, but something in him argued otherwise. Who knew; maybe he himself had gotten the same look in his eyes. He didn't really remember, for it had felt like something in his brain had shut off at that moment. He had been able to feel Spike's racing pulse under his fingers, and at once, his own heart had matched the pace.

Pulling his hand up, Vicious saw that some of Spike's blood had gotten on his fingers. He held his breath for a moment, then rubbed his fingers together and dodged to the side just as a gunshot cut through the silence like a blade. The bullet sliced through the air where he had been, hitting the door harmlessly. In the split-second of time he had, Vicious snuck a brief glance at it. _Tranquilizer? _So the Crow had been telling the truth: they didn't want him dead right away.

Vicious started running as more shots rang out, unsheathing his katana in the process and finding his way around by following the sound of the shooter's breathing. He trailed the smell of gunpowder to get hints of where the Crow would aim next and dodged his way towards him, nearly tripping when he came to a staircase that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

He pressed his back into the side railing of the staircase as a few more shots sounded, then leapt over several steps to alight on the landing, where the man he now recognized as Jericho Slaine stood. Vicious swung his katana at Jericho's left hand, which was holding the gun, and the other man quickly dodged, slipping the gun under his belt and bringing out a small metal rod; in the same motion, he triggered something within it and it extended from both sides, becoming the equivalent of a metal bo staff. He thrust it before him just in time to block Vicious' blade, sending a few stray sparks into the air as metal struck metal.

Now that he was close enough to get a better look, Vicious discovered right away just how this Crow had blocked him so quickly. Jericho's breaths were coming quickly, and more noticeably, his eyes were abnormally bloodshot. _Red-eye._ That explained plenty.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Vicious leaned into his blade, then flung it out of the stalemate in attempt to throw the Crow off balance. He almost succeeded; but the drug wasn't in such high demand for nothing. Jericho took advantage of where he stood, pushing off the wall and jabbing the staff in Vicious' direction, all in a moment. The _clang_ as the staff hit the opposite wall resounded through the stairwell as Vicious ducked under it, bringing them to the balcony.

Parrying another blow, the Crow eyed Vicious a bit strangely, as if trying to read him, his brows knitted with something that wasn't quite confusion.

"...Why are you doing this?" the Crow finally asked him, defending himself with inhuman speed against every swing of the blade. Watching him steadily, Vicious silently committed to memory the exact place that Jericho had slipped his gun.

Receiving nothing more than another slash in reply—one which would have been lethal if he hadn't moved; instead it only shallowly caught him in the side—Jericho determined to explain himself better.

"You're fighting for your life," he stated, ducking jerkily under the Dragon's deadly blade and bringing his staff up with him, managing to land one solid blow to Vicious' chest that nearly threw him back down the stairwell. "I don't see why you would be, at this point." His bloodshot eyes never left those of his opponent. "I'm interested in the reason."

Vicious narrowed his eyes once more, stepping back to block what would have been a rather nasty blow to the head. "You won't hear it," was his only reply as he allowed himself to be forced backward a few steps before pushing back, sending them into another brief stalemate. Still, the red stare remained.

"You have nothing left." The Crow was silent for a moment, to emphasize the statement. Vicious took full advantage of that moment to wrench his way out of the deadlock and take a decent swipe, cutting deeply into the Crow's left arm. He had proven himself to be left-handed from the first; he wouldn't be using that gun anymore. This elicited a wince, but nothing more, and Jericho found himself immediately, whipping his staff around from its position and pinning Vicious to the balcony rail. "The Red Dragons are _dead_," he stressed, now that he had the Dragon's full attention. "What did you expect to come after?"

Letting the Crow have his little advantage for the moment, Vicious looked him dead in the eye. "Nothing."

Strange. The Crow seemed like this really did perplex him. "Then why are you still fighting?" he asked, a strange finality in his voice. To that, Vicious nearly scoffed.

"Because you left him alive." No sooner had he said it, when a well-placed kick threw Jericho roughly against the back wall, killing the deadlock.

However, the victory was short-lived. In the swiftest movement the Crow had displayed yet, Jericho righted himself, turned his staff, and shoved it forward, slamming it into Vicious just under his ribs.

Just where the bullet had been.

Vicious inhaled sharply in spite of himself, paralyzed temporarily as his body screamed at him in protest. His ears began to ring almost at once, but over the sound he could make out the Crow's reply.

"Not for long."

With that, Jericho's hand shot in and out of his pocket in the same instant, bringing something from it that glinted in the light, then pulled his hand back and stabbed it into Vicious' arm.

Flinching slightly, Vicious glanced over to see that it was a syringe that Jericho held, full to the top with a dull yellow liquid that was slowly being injected into him. What had stabbed him had been the needle. Cursing inwardly, Vicious forced his eyes to go back to the Crow, sending a glare at him through the sparks that were beginning to appear in front of his eyes.

The Crow was looking utterly, maddeningly satisfied with his handiwork. Catching Vicious' glance at the syringe, the madness of the red-eye began to show itself in his expression. "It doesn't act as quickly as the gun," he explained, "but it will do the job in time."

Just as he said the last sentence, he wrenched the needle out of Vicious' arm and whipped out his gun with his good hand. Ignoring the burning sensation that was already beginning to sting his eyes, Vicious managed to plunge his katana forward and make contact with Jericho's shoulder, just before Jericho pulled back his gun and smashed it into the side of his head.

For a moment, Vicious' entire body went numb; he could hardly establish the sensation of falling backward before he came to himself and realized that his feet weren't on the ground anymore. He saw the balcony falling farther and farther away from him, as the gunshots below began to grow steadily louder...everything seemed to slow down as he fell. He felt as though his mind was suddenly separate from him, and almost heard it vaguely wonder if this was what it had felt like when Spi—

Then all the air was knocked out of his lungs and the sparks exploded in front of his eyes when his body slammed into the ground.

* * *

"Think you can move alright?" Jet asked in between shots, now only using one gun and covering the bullet-wound with his free hand. He and Spike were slouched back-to-back behind the counter, Spike using Jet's other gun with his good arm and paying no mind to the stiff one.

"Don't know," Spike replied, popping up to shoot down a few more thugs, then practically collapsing back down. He gave Jet a once-over. "You?"

"Don't know," Jet replied, grinning slightly in spite of himself. "Guess we're pretty screwed." Spike found himself grinning weakly as well.

"Guess so." They stopped talking for a moment as a few thugs jumped over the counter, forcing them into hand-to-hand combat. It took them both some effort to get rid of them, as Jet was losing an alarming amount of blood and Spike was honestly in no condition to fight. However, they just barely managed, then dropped back down behind the counter.

"...Vicious is here," Spike commented quietly, a shadow casting itself across his voice.

"Yep," Jet replied briefly, ducking down lower in order to reload his gun. Spike emerged from their cover briefly, buying Jet time to do so. After a second, Jet popped up beside him and added his firepower to Spike's.

"And he came with you," Spike added before they both dropped back down.

"Yep," repeated Jet, watching carefully for his next opening to shoot and shaking his head when his vision blurred briefly. God, there were so _many_ of them; had Slaine set the entire _syndicate_ on them?

"...And hell's frozen over, while we're at it," Spike finished, holding out his hand for more ammo and watching a man fall from the balcony with grim recognition.

Jet handed him another clip, briefly pausing to consider the last statement. "...Yep."

Closing his eyes briefly, Spike nodded once. "Okay." With that, he abruptly dropped his gun and shoved his hand into Jet's vest, instantly finding the last grenade and snatching it out before Jet could object. He hastily pulled out the pin and threw the grenade outwards.

The moment it exploded, Spike grabbed the gun, jumped over the counter and made a run for it, ignoring Jet's shouts of protest. His limbs felt like he had five-ton weights on them, an effect of being worked so hard by the particular drug that Jericho's men had periodically pumped into him to keep him quiet, but he managed to stumble his way through the confusion created by the explosion and slide to a stop next to Vicious' unconscious form.

The first thing Vicious felt as he returned to consciousness was that his body had never felt as heavy as it did right then. Through the deafening ringing in his ears, he almost heard a familiar voice urging him to wake up, almost felt the dull ache that had spread through his chest; as his eyes fluttered open, he almost saw a mismatched pair of eyes staring back.

"Come on!" Spike commanded, sounding somewhat reluctant but not quite, and urgent nonetheless. His eyes refused to focus on Vicious, instead darting around rapidly, keeping a lookout for incoming bullets. Vicious quickly shook off the haze of what was probably a concussion and swiftly got to his feet, taking up his katana, which had dropped closeby. He and Spike locked eyes for only a moment; then Spike's jaw tightened and he cocked his gun. At the same moment, Vicious narrowed his eyes and thrust his katana forward—

—straight into the heart of the thug that was about to shoot Spike from behind. Feeling his own heartbeat nearly doubling its pace, Vicious somehow knew that Spike had just saved him as well; the telltale sound of a body dropping to the ground behind him confirmed his guess. However, there was no time for questions, for the few remaining Crows chose that moment to alert some reinforcements from the shadows. In moments, they were completely surrounded.

Meanwhile, Jet slowly emerged from behind the counter. Through his blurred and red-tinted vision, he saw that not a single eye was on him. He could make use of that. He acted quickly, clicking the safety off of his gun when the Crows did; it was now or never. Slouching back against the wall, his feet against the counter, he pointed the gun at the back of the nearest Crow. So it was a self-sacrifice; maybe this could at least give Spike a chance. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the trigger, letting loose a deafening **bang.** And he didn't stop there; raising the pistol into the air, he shot again, and once more, blindly. _That's right. Over here._ He'd fight like hell, but he had a feeling he'd just signed his own death warrant.

The Jade Crows, however, never got the chance to make any moves against him. They never got the chance to move at all. For at that moment, the silence was broken by a deafening crash.

The entire room seemed to jerk at the sound, which came from a closed area across from the door, beyond something that looked similar to a hatch. In the next second, a sound like a machine gun began to pound against the door from the opposite side, bending it outward with the force until it completely collapsed, shot to the ground by a full-sized...spacecraft?...

Jet's and Spike's jaws must have dropped to the ground at that moment. They both murmured something along the lines of "Oh, hell no..."

The ship that had crashed through the wall was the very ship that Jet had found missing when he returned to the Bebop, the ship he'd been sure he would never see again. On the ship's side, the name was painted clearly in bold, crimson letters:

Red Tail.

* * *

...XD

To my super-fabtabulous reviewers:

**Picon-**"The meat of it," huh?...Yes, that is the _perfect_ way to put it. This whole section was such fun to write; I hope it was, is, and will be as entertaining to read!

**VanillaRose-**n.n No worries, the next chapter shall be up soon. So glad that it's keeping your interest!

**jdchs-**n.n! Your reviews are so flattering! Gives me warm fuzzies XD But anywho, I post a chapter every other day, so as to avoid century-long downtime between, but also to give you guys some time to breathe between chapters. Can't very well take away the suspense element _entirely_, now, can I? ;)

**Shteve-**...Don't go insane...who would I DDR against? o.o Buuuut either way, here's the sanity-restoring (maybe?) update for ya. You finally got your action sequence! At least the beginning of it...XD

**phoenix521-**Well thank you! I really hope I'm not killing anyone with these cliffhangers...o.o But in any case, thanks so much for giving this fic a chance. So glad you're enjoying it! n.n


	12. Rush

Disclaimer: There once was a writer named V,

With disclaimers for all to see.

So's not to be sued—lest it be misconstrued—

THE SHOW DOES NOT BELONG TO ME!

A/N: ...Can you tell I'm running out of disclaimer ideas? The normal way is so boring... -.-

* * *

Chapter 11: Rush

Paying no mind to the Jade Crow thugs scattering everywhere in attempt to avoid being mowed down by the vehicle, Red Tail made no hesitation to speed its way across the room, swerving to a halt in front of Jet. He stared open-mouthed as the side door slid open, revealing none other than Faye Valentine at the controls.

"Get in!" she ordered, holding out her hand. Jet had to blink a couple of times before taking it and allowing her to help him hoist himself onto the ship. Once inside he dropped to the floor, leaning against the wall and clutching his wound with a shaking hand. Faye gave him a quick glance before accelerating towards Spike and Vicious without bothering to close the hatch. She didn't seem the least bit surprised at Vicious' presence.

Veering to a stop again, she turned the ship to give Spike and Vicious easier access. Somewhere in the struggle, the two of them had gotten separated, but they were still both in fairly close range. However, Vicious was closer. He eyed the ship suspiciously, as if unsure whether Faye had come for him as well. Faye seemed to have a brief internal struggle, but ultimately exhaled loudly and sent him a look that seemed to say, 'Do you want to get rescued or not?' Catching the look, he made a swift leap and landed in a kneeling position inside the ship.

That left Spike. He was farther away from Red Tail than either of the others had been, and many of the scattering thugs kept him from getting any closer. Still under the effects of the drugs he'd been given, it was all he could do to stagger through the throngs of Crows; when he got as close as was possible for him, he jumped with all that was left in him.

_Come on, come on..._ Spike pleaded to no one in particular as he soared through the air, praying that he wouldn't come up short; unfortunately, it looked like that was exactly what he was doing. _Shit..._ He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to hit the ground and be trampled to death.

Suddenly, however, he felt a hand grab hold of his arm, nearly ripping it out of its socket when gravity kicked in but keeping him suspended in the air nonetheless.

Unable to use his left arm, Spike could only kick like mad and use thugs' heads as stepping stones to attempt to give himself a boost. He hadn't looked at who had grabbed him; he knew Vicious' hands by touch. It looked like Spike wasn't the only one acting on instinct today.

Spike used one more thug's head as a launchpad and thrust his weight forward, getting his top half inside the ship. Vicious started to pull him in, when suddenly a stray bullet from some particularly determined Crow hit its mark. He grunted and almost dropped Spike when he felt a searing pain in his arm, but quickly switched hands, grimacing. At that point, Jet helped Vicious pull him the rest of the way inside, where he collapsed against the wall and watched the hatch close. Vicious dropped into the corner, clutching his arm, and Faye shifted into high gear, rocketing back out the way she came.

"What the hell...are you doing here?" Jet finally asked breathlessly, bunching up his vest and holding it tight against his side to slow the bleeding as they flew through the hangar and into a long metal tunnel. Apparently the tunnel went a mile or so out of the way, so ships could come and go without being suspected by the police.

Faye rolled her eyes. "Saving your asses, what does it look like?" She flipped her hair out of her face, then suddenly made an impossibly sharp turn around a corner. All three men in the back barely managed to brace themselves in time to keep from being tossed into a heap from the turn. "And you guys kept saying you didn't need my help," she continued on, smirking at Jet and Spike smugly as if nothing had happened.

Both of her fellow bounty hunters looked as if they were unable to completely wrap their brains around the fact that she was here. "I won't dignify that with a response," Spike finally muttered, and Jet nodded in agreement.

"What I'm asking is how you kn—"

"Hold on," Faye interrupted Jet, looking at her radar screen. It showed that several Jade Crow ships were waiting for them just outside where they were to make their exit. "Shit!" she whispered to herself after a moment, then abruptly stopped the ship and pulled out her communicator. She punched a number in, then looked at the miniature screen. "Ed, you there?"

This time it was three pairs of eyes that blinked in surprise, but Faye paid no mind to them. After a moment of static, she came face to...eye...with Ed herself.

"That you, Faye-Faye?"

"Yes, Ed..." She made a face. "Will you get your eye off the screen already?" Ed giggled and obeyed, holding her end of the communicator at a better distance. "Alright," Faye said, "we're gonna need the reinforcements. Send in both of them."

"Roooooger-rabbits!" Ed sang in reply, then reached over and grabbed a remote control—the same one she'd been working on when Jet and Vicious left the Bebop. "Blast-off! They'll take abouuuut five minutes. Faye-Faye's birdy-ship will have to wait, wait, wait!" she announced.

"Great," Faye groaned, slumping in her seat. "Alright. Thanks, Ed."

"Yep yep yep! Bye-bye, Faye-Faye!"

Faye shut off her communicator and stuck it in her pocket, then turned off Red Tail's engine to avoid wasting fuel. She then turned partway around in her seat to observe the three men in the back. They were quite a sight; they looked like they'd just stepped in from a war. By now, Jet seemed to be taking a break from asking how she'd known to come for them, growing weary from blood loss. Spike and Vicious hadn't made eye contact even once since they'd boarded the ship; she could practically feel the tension between them. Spike had barely moved from his position; now he just had his eyes closed in exhaustion, his good arm absently covering his abdomen. And Vicious...she really didn't want to think about Vicious. In her ship. Right there. Why did she do these things to herself?

"Faye..." Hm, looked like the break was over. A look in Jet's direction showed him with his head in his free hand, a position she'd come to recognize when he was either confused, fed up, or both. After a second, he opened his eyes again, blinking them once before focusing on her. When he spoke, he left space between each word, much like a parent trying to get the truth out of a lying kid. "...Why are you here?"

A small pang of concern rose in Faye, and she finally decided to have some mercy on him.

"Ed," she answered simply. "She figured out where I was, then found some way to e-mail me. She's been keeping me up to date since the first night." All this was said matter-of-factly, as though it wasn't sounding more like a conspiracy with every word. "Ed's the one who planned all this out. She kept telling me not to go anywhere, in every e-mail, until this morning. That's how I got the place and time."

Jet looked as though he'd had an epiphany. "_That's_ what she was doing..." he murmured half to himself, his eyes going unfocused again. Faye only shrugged and turned back around in her seat.

For the next couple minutes, the only sounds emitted from the occupants of Red Tail were an occasional shift in position or an infrequent cough. The tension inside the ship was high enough as it was; there was no need to heighten it further by chancing a sour conversation topic.

Finally, Faye's communicator beeped. "Incomiiiiiiiiiiing!" announced Ed's voice when she picked it up.

As if on cue, the roars of two engines started to echo through the tunnel, barely audible at first, but slowly growing louder...and louder...until...

For about the third time in the past ten minutes, Spike and Jet had to do a double-take as _their_ ships...both Hammerhead and Swordfish II...slowed to a stop on either side of Red Tail.

Faye smirked at her two comrades proudly, then looked back to her communicator. "Alright, Ed, they're here. You sure you can control both of them with that remote of yours?"

Immediately Jet and Spike jumped up behind Faye's seat in the cockpit and broke into dismayed protests; _Ed_, piloting _their_ ships?

"What the HELL do you think—"

"After ten years, no way in hell—"

"—you're doing, letting the kid—"

"—am I going to let the insane hacker kid—"

"—who makes her own COMPUTER malfunction—"

"—PILOT **MY** SHIP!" they finished in unison. Faye rolled her eyes.

"Please. You guys are such babies. It's not like either of you can pilot in the shape you're in. You actually expect me to fight off that many ships on my own?"

"Nope," Spike answered, then like lightning his hand darted past Faye and slapped the button to open the hatch.

"HEY!" Faye protested, slapping at his hand, but Spike was already on his way out. Faye battled with her seatbelt in attempt to stop him. "You idiot! You're going to get us ALL killed!"

Spike merely waved a dismissive hand as he started out...just before his knees began to buckle right under him. Jet caught him before he hit the ground, and just as quickly as it had happened, Spike started struggling to get out of his grip. "Look, I can pilot my own goddamn SHIP!" he said loudly, trying to shove Jet out of the way but failing miserably on account of his drastically weakened condition.

"Yeah, assuming you can even walk that far," Jet told him pointedly. He made Spike return to where he'd been sitting before, regardless of the dirty looks Spike gave him for it. "Besides, you've put us through enough shit to keep you alive this long; no way in hell are you gonna go and get yourself killed after all that."

Spike finally resorted to scowling at the floor; he knew as well as they did that it was pointless to attempt to pilot in his condition.

Satisfied, Jet turned around and proceeded to exit Red Tail.

"Wait, you're still going?" Faye asked shrilly.

Jet didn't bother to turn around. "What do you think?" With that, he slid out of Red Tail and climbed into the cockpit of Hammerhead.

Faye exhaled in exasperation, flopping back into her seat and picking up her communicator. "Okay, Ed, looks like you're only piloting one of the..." she trailed off as without a word, Vicious slipped out through the open hatch as well. "...Where do you think you're going?"

Vicious didn't dignify her with a response, instead heading straight for Swordfish II and swinging himself into the cockpit.

Faye stared at him open-mouthed for a second, then turned to Spike. "You won't let _Ed_ pilot your precious ship, but you're going to let _him_ do it?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch with each word. Spike's eyes remained closed, and his arm absently moved over the crudely-treated gash in his abdomen.

"He knows how to fly her," he answered quietly. Faye blinked at him.

"He...does? Since when?" Spike's eyes opened, and he looked straight into hers.

"Since he was with me when I first picked her up."

"...Oh." Faye slowly turned back around and started up Red Tail's engine again.

None of the ships' pilots bothered to contact each other; at once, all three ships took off towards the end of the tunnel.

* * *

Know what...I love Faye. She is such fun to write for. I just thought I'd share. (scampers off)

To my insanely sensational reviewers:

**Picon-**Italy? o.o Wow. Sounds awesome. I _think_ some of your questions were answered in this chapter...? Hm, well, in any case, thanks for your nifty review, as always. Have fun in Italy!

**VanillaRose-**Ramble! Please do! Ramble away, I love it! n.n Lol, your review was such fun to read. As for Jer, well, what can ya really do about him? No need to inconvenience yourself by jumping into the fanfiction world on his account, though (granted, he'd probably be kinda flattered...XD). Sadly, I cannot answer your questions—hopefully this chapter and, if not, the following ones will do the job instead. :)

**jdchs-**Lol, ya caught me ;P The way I see it, if it's the sort of thing you love to read, why not write what you'd want to see happen? (shrug) And thank you very much, I'm glad you liked that scene. n.n

**Shteve-**;P You and your Star Wars...well for the record, I thought up Jer's bo staff way before I knew a double-sided lightsaber existed. So there. :P Anyway, glad ya liked the action. I know you've been waiting for it, so hopefully it's all you hoped for. And a bag of chips. o.o And there's still more coming...

**phoenix521-**n.n Faye indeed! Couldn't very well leave her completely out of the action, could I? She's too...Faye. o.O...Yeah...well, I'm so glad you're intrigued! Hopefully this and the following chapters won't disappoint. :)


	13. Pushing the Sky

Disclaimer: I own my computer and my little red notebook, and all plot bunnies that populate either one. -.-

* * *

Chapter 12: Pushing the Sky

Jet squeezed his eyes shut briefly as his vision went out of focus again. He was determined to see this thing through, bullet or no bullet. He really hadn't had the chance to get a good look at Spike, to absorb that he was here and alive and talking to them. He'd had no chance to give Spike any idea of just what his absence had put him through. No way would he let any bullet keep him from doing that.

After a moment, his communicator flicked on. "Jet, I'm telling you that you're in no shape to do this!" Jet's hands tightened on Hammerhead's controls at the sound of Faye's voice. Something in him knew that she was probably right, but the rest of him—the stubborn part—refused to agree.

"And I'm telling you that I'm going to anyway. I told you a long time ago, Faye, I don't need instructions." That said, he switched off the communicator and blocked it from receiving any more contacts for the time being. He allowed himself one exasperated sigh. "Women." Then he took a deep breath, blinked his vision back into focus, and gripped the controls tightly as Hammerhead soared out of the tunnel and into the clouded sky.

* * *

"Men! Ugh," Faye scoffed as she shoved her communicator out of the way. She glanced at Spike quickly in the rearview mirror. "You guys are impossible, you know that?" Spike's eyes remained closed; he was still sulking about not being able to pilot his ship.

"Yeah. Well, y'know. We try."

"Argh!" she groaned. "I give up!" And with that, she followed closely behind Hammerhead and Swordfish II as they sped out of the darkness.

* * *

Vicious squinted as the sudden shock of light that greeted him at the exit of the tunnel stung his eyes. If he had figured it correctly, it would still take a few minutes for the drug he'd been given to completely spread through his bloodstream, which meant he had a few minutes before he became completely useless. Hopefully they would be able to dispose of their little welcoming-party before that happened.

Eying Swordfish II's controls, Vicious realized that he remembered each and every one, right down to the windshield wipers. It didn't really surprise him, for he'd been the only one brave enough to ride shotgun when Spike was first learning how to fly, but still, he hadn't seen the inside of the ship in years. _Alright then._ He glanced at Red Tail as it passed him. _Don't you dare die in there, Spike. It isn't over yet._

With that thought still lingering in his mind, Vicious shifted his gaze to the Jade Crow ships waiting for them. There looked to be twenty of them at the very least, each visibly loaded with heavy artillery. The ships were small, fairly lightweight, but looked as though their speed would make up for it.

Well. No use in wasting what dwindling opportunity for conscious thought he had left.

Hesitating no longer, Vicious eyed the four ships nearest him and shifted into high gear, then flew straight at them.

As though his action had set off a trigger, all four Jade Crow ships sprang to life and opened fire at once.

A game plan already quickly forming in Vicious' mind, a ghost of a cold smirk played at his lips, and at the last moment he veered to the left, then sharply turned to the right. He almost did a complete 360º turn, but maneuvered in such a way that he was able to get some momentum, then charge straight forward—directly towards the closest Crow ship. Swordfish II flew straight through the rain of machine gun fire, and finally Vicious drove the protruding plasma cannon of Spike's ship straight through the enemy's cockpit. He could almost hear the crack as it beheaded the ship's pilot, which provoked a wicked grin to spread across Vicious' features. However, it also provoked three of the pilot's comrades to take notice and come at him at a rapid pace.

Vicious was ready for them. His spidery fingers flew across the controls as though he'd piloted the ship all his life, his steel-trap memory reacquainting him with every command. Without hesitation he activated Swordfish II's machine guns and shot down one of the three, the first ship still in a shishkabob-like state on the cannon. Next, he jumped the ship forward and pulled the front end to the left, then slammed it to the right. The ship suspended on Swordfish II's cannon smashed into another of the Crow ships and they both plummeted to the ground below.

That left the third one, and from the corner of his eye Vicious could see that a few more Crow ships had him in their sights as well. The venomous grin never left his lips as they approached, surrounding Swordfish II. At first glance, he could guess there were about seven of them.

This could get interesting.

* * *

Red Tail shot forward so suddenly and with such force that Spike flew backward, smacking his head against the back of the ship. "AH! Son of a bitch!" he yelped, rubbing his head and glaring at Faye. "Thank you!" he said wryly.

Faye grinned a little as she maneuvered her way through the enemy ships. "Oh, you might want to strap in. That first jump is a doozy," she said sweetly, then quickly dodged as the Jade Crow ships started to fire at her.

Spike grumbled in annoyance as he begrudgingly climbed into the front next to Faye and strapped in, subtly grabbing onto the side of the seat for dear life. In the meantime, Faye was dealing with hurdles that were a bit larger in scale than a bonk on the head. "Okay," she said quietly to the five ships before her, "come and get me."

With that, she flew straight at them, then waited until the last possible moment and quickly cut to the right at full speed, luring the ships after her. "Hold on tight," she addressed Spike, a dangerous grin forming at her lips. Then, without warning, she slammed on the brakes. The ship stopped abruptly; so abruptly, in fact, that Red Tail completely flipped over in the air with the inertia of the stop. The Crow ships shot over Red Tail harmlessly, and Faye went straight into high gear and flew in the opposite direction of the Crow ships, still upside-down.

They flew straight forward briefly; then Faye screeched to another halt, flipping the ship back over. Sure enough, the five Crow ships were still struggling to get themselves turned back around. "See ya, boys..." she murmured, then launched two missiles in their direction, doubling that with firing up Red Tail's machine guns. "...well, maybe not."

However, these ships were speedy little devils. Three of them escaped the missiles and managed to evade the machine gunfire. One started in straight towards her, while the other two shot around to either side. "Shit!" Faye cursed, then quickly dodged two powerful but slow blasts from the Crow ships' plasma cannons. All three of them followed Red Tail relentlessly from there on. Knowing that flipping over wouldn't likely work twice, she instead swerved to the left, did a 180˚, and immediately opened fire with Red Tail's machine guns. All three of the Crow ships went down.

"HA! Take that!" Faye declared, then spun Red Tail around and started back into the fray. However, neither she nor Spike saw a new Crow ship emerge from the metal tunnel they had come through.

"Okay, admit it, I'm good," Faye pressed, looking at Spike slyly. He summoned the energy to roll his eyes, though the sudden physical strain after all the abuse his body had taken, inside and out, had been a complete shock to his system. It was starting to take its toll.

"It's not over yet," he pointed out, closing his eyes, then a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't want to jinx—"

Suddenly, something rammed into them from behind. The impact threw them both forward, only their seatbelts keeping their heads from slamming into the dashboard, and Faye instinctively stomped on the brakes, making Red Tail screech to a stop.

Faye immediately turned her ship around to face the Crow ship, noting that this one was painted a deeper shade of green than the others. On its side, in white, even lettering, it read: Sabertooth.

"What the HELL!" Faye blurted, eying the ship's pilot. At a glance, Spike's face fell into a glower that could easily have burned a hole in the other ship. He recognized that Crow—unbeknownst to him, the same Crow who had led Jet and Vicious from the station to the warehouse—and even from the few glimpses of her he'd gotten while he was their captive, she just rubbed him the wrong way.

And now that he was paying attention, it looked like she had that effect on Faye as well; she and the Crow had locked eyes, and with every passing second, Faye's visage seemed to grow more violent. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the two women were exchanging blows through stares alone; then again, he didn't pretend to have any idea how women worked.

Finally, as if the Crow had said something that crossed the line, Faye let out a growl of rage and let loose everything Red Tail had. Missiles and gunfire combined into a fantastic light show as they flew toward the Crow's ship; then, to Faye's shock, every last one of them merely bounced off an invisible shield surrounding Sabertooth. The woman seemed to scoff at the failed attack, and suddenly, out of the front of her ship shot three enormous metal blades, fashioning the ship to look very much like the paw of a predator. Then, from the sides of Sabertooth, two missile launchers emerged.

Without hesitation, the Crow launched two missiles at Red Tail. Faye immediately flew under her ship to attempt an attack from behind.

Spike, meanwhile, had subtly moved to the far right in his seat in attempt to evade Faye's wrath. Being careful not to make any sudden movements, he glanced out the back of the cockpit's dome; then he mentally groaned.

"Uh, Faye..."

Faye's demeanor didn't change in the least. "Shut up, Spike," she replied curtly, her eyes glued to Sabertooth's cockpit.

"They're still behind us."

"Spike, if you say ano—WHAT!" Faye looked in the rearview mirror, and sure enough, the missiles were literally following after them. "Ah, FUCK!" she shouted shamelessly. "They're heat-seeking!"

Unable to shake them, all Faye could do was floor the accelerator and maneuver like a madwoman to buy time to think up a plan of attack. Not that she had the slightest inkling of a plan, but hell if she would give that Crow bitch the satisfaction of knowing that.

Thinking quickly, Faye realized that she was heading straight for the area in which Jet was fighting off several Crow ships. Yes...she could use that.

Quickly, she started steering with one hand and held out the other. "Spike, communicator," she ordered, and he grabbed it from where she'd tossed it and placed it in her hand. She started to contact Jet, but got only static. "Jet!...agh!" she blurted in frustration when she realized that he'd blocked it. "Damnit! Why does he have to be so stubborn!" she groaned, then kicked the speed up a notch.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jet was oblivious to Faye's frustration as he sloppily dodged a shot from a Crow plasma cannon. He gritted his teeth uneasily, willing his vision to come back into focus, but it was to no avail. Rather, a hint of red burst at the edges of his sight, as if in defiance. Growling in vexation, he saw a Crow ship coming at him from behind in the rearview mirror, then quickly turned Hammerhead's propellant tanks by 90º and shot straight up at the last minute. The said ship was unable to stop its own staggering speed and collided with one of its comrades—namely the one that had been charging at Jet from the front. However, only one of them appeared to be mortally damaged, and the other merely left the first to crash to the ground, again setting its sights on Hammerhead.

Muttering a curse, Jet swiftly moved Hammerhead out of the path of another blue-white blur which he knew to be the fire of a plasma cannon, then swerved around and quickly fired Hammerhead's harpoon. "Come on..." he muttered, hoping to God that his consciousness wouldn't fail him.

The harpoon shot straight out, and in an instant, Jet could feel its impact as it tore through glass and thick metal once, twice. Through his red-edged vision, Jet could see that the harpoon had gone straight through the cockpit of one Crow ship, then hooked the wing of another. He smirked weakly in triumph, moving the harpoon to let the ships drop to the ground far below.

Then he was abruptly cut off as without warning, Hammerhead lurched forward, throwing Jet forward with a jolt and rapidly propelling his ship out of its original path. "SHIT!" he yelped, looking to see what had hit him; then his dismay turned to exasperation when he saw that it wasn't a Crow ship that was now speeding away from him, but Red Tail.

Without thinking, he snatched up his communicator in frustration. "JESUS, Faye, what the fuck was that?" he barked into it. There was a slight hesitation from the other end of the line, and Jet watched as Red Tail barreled through the reinforcements that he had been about to take on.

"Try keeping the commlink open!" finally came her rushed reply. It was then that Jet saw the two missiles that shot from out of nowhere, first matching Faye's pace, then slowly exceeding it until they were able to reflect Red Tail's image in the silver plates of their noses.

Faye had the accelerator slammed down with all the strength she had, silently willing Red Tail to release some hidden burst of speed, but the ship was pushed to its limit. _So close..._ she thought to herself, eying two Crow ships that Jet had been fighting as they took notice of her.

"Spike," she addressed her passenger urgently, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, "when I tell you, throw the switch next to the green button." Spike scanned the control panel for said switch, then nodded when he found it. Faye returned her attention to steering, weaving through the machine gunfire from the two Crow ships and steadily moving towards them. Just ten yards away...eight...six...four...practically on top of them..."NOW!"

Spike quickly flipped the switch. At once, Faye pulled the shift back as far as it could go. The switch released something in the ship, allowing Red Tail to abruptly change its course and shoot straight up into the sky. Spike watched with vague interest as the missiles crashed into either Crow ship.

Faye collapsed against the back of her seat, trying to slow her breathing. God, that had been a rush. So relieved was she to be done with that wild goose chase that she didn't even notice that more Crow ships were heading straight for her. Hammerhead's pilot, however, _did_ notice.

"Damnit, the woman just can't stay out of trouble," Jet muttered to himself, then fired up Hammerhead's engine to go help her out. All he had to do, he figured, was activate the harpoon again and hook the Crows, then get back to business. Just a few hundred yards to go...

"I wouldn't do that."

He flinched upon hearing the unfamiliar voice crackle through his communicator, but didn't lose any speed. First he glanced back to see if whoever it was had come up behind him, but there was no one. After a good, hard look to make sure, he returned his eyes to the front—

—leaving himself only a split-second for the name 'Sabertooth' to flash in front of his eyes before three titanic metal blades were driven directly through Hammerhead's cockpit.

* * *

. . . . (runs away and hides) o.—

To my obscenely marvelous reviewers who probably rather dislike me at the moment:

**jdchs-**Glad you liked it! 'Tense' just seemed to be the perfect word to describe the whole situation. Tense and awkward. (sigh) Poor them. As far as relaying any messages to Vicious for ya...erm. I don't think my author-powers go further than occasionally pouncing on him and going "TELL ME WHAT YOU WOULD DO IN THIS SITUATION!" ...or something. Um. Yeah. Don't mind me...

Wait...you reviewed again...o.o Wow. I think you just gave me my self-esteem boost for the month of June. I really don't know what to say, other than an incredibly enthusiastic thank-you! What you're describing is exactly what I was going for, so I'm thrilled that, at least for you, that's what is coming across!

...And no, I'm not Watanabe-san, lol. n.n

**Shteve-**Welllll...I'm sure you can tell why she didn't have Hammerhead now?...heh... —.o (is still hiding)

**microfiber shoelaces-**Faye does indeed kick ass, and lots of it. n.n She's good that way. I really don't know what else to say to your review except thank you and I love it, as always. :)

**Bob the barbarian-**So glad you're still liking what you see. Your reviews are great, they always get me in a good mood, so thanks a lot. n.n

**phoenix521-**Thanks so much! That's the great thing about Ed—she always wins. _Always._ n.n

**VanillaRose-**Hmm...insanelly...insanely? I think that's how it goes...yep! (just looked it up) XD And as far as Jer goes, it might just be both. 0.O (sigh) He's a silly boy. But I'm so glad everyone else is behaving themselves! (...somehow that sentence didn't seem grammatically correct...T.T) I'll make a note to give 'em all cookies later. ;)


	14. Cosmos

Disclaimer: No, I am not a forty-year-old Japanese man named Shinichiro Watanabe.

...Though that would be _cool._

* * *

Chapter 13: Cosmos

In that single moment, time seemed to stop.

Faye's heart pounded slowly and loudly in her ears as she frowned at the image her eyes were trying to send to her brain. She saw it right before her, but she didn't, couldn't _see_ it. That hadn't just happened, had it? No, couldn't have...those kinds of things didn't happen to Jet.

It wasn't until Sabertooth turned towards her, as if in slow motion, and jerked down and to the right, making Hammerhead slide off the blades...when her eyes followed it down from the sky...when she saw that the insides of two of the blades were smeared with red, that her heart dropped into her stomach and her mouth went dry, and everything became all too clear.

All at once, the world sprang back to life. "...Oh my God..." she heard herself whisper; then in one movement her hand had snatched up her communicator and she was drawing breath, and practically screaming the words: "...JET? Jet, if you can hear me, answer!"

Only static came in reply. And Hammerhead was still falling.

It was then that Spike finally broke from his stupor and grabbed the communicator out of Faye's hands, nearly scaring her out of her skin in the process. When she looked at him desperately, she saw that his eyes held the same desperation, but it was well-masked by a glacial expression that he may very well have picked up from Vicious earlier in life. Like lightning he switched the communicator's channel and barked into it: "Ed, get Hammerhead, NOW!"

"Gots it!" came the reply, laced with static, and he tossed the communicator down, watching as Hammerhead's plunge slowed to a stop, and was directed to land gently on the ground below.

It was right about then that the two were torn away from their concern by the roar of Swordfish II as it zoomed past them, nearly catching Red Tail at the wing but swerving dangerously to the side at the last second. It flew directly into the small collection of remaining Crow ships—that in fact, Faye realized, could have shot them down at any given moment in their distraction with Hammerhead, if Swordfish II hadn't been keeping the Crows back the whole time. However, it didn't take anything so drastic as the near-collision they'd just had for Faye to see that something was seriously wrong. Even as her quick eyes followed the ship, it seemed unable to stay on a straight course, and every now and then would pitch abruptly to one side or another. _What is he doing?_

Faye turned to Spike to ask that very question, but in that instant her eye caught a flash of silver, and she just barely managed to throw the steering and maneuver Red Tail out of the way in time to keep from being skewered by Sabertooth's deadly blades. She slammed on the acceleration and flew in a wide arc around Sabertooth, even as it followed her. "Shit, shit, shit..." she muttered to herself, her mind racing in search of a weak point on the ship.

"Faye..." She glanced over in response to her name, but Spike wasn't looking at her. His eyes were glued to his ship as its movements became more and more erratic. "...turn right."

"_What?_" she snapped back; to go right was to enter directly into the remaining Crow ships that Swordfish II was holding back. "Like hell I will! Are you _insane_? I've got enough to deal wi—SPIKE!" But it was too late for her to do anything; Spike had shoved her out of the way and taken the controls. Whether purposely or unwittingly, his body had her pinned in the corner where her seat met the side of the ship's interior, unable to regain the controls. "GOD DAMNIT, SPIKE!" she shouted in his ear, but he didn't bat an eye. "Get off me! YOU'RE GOING TO GET US BOTH KI—"

"Just trust me, alright?" he snapped back, tightening his good hand on the controls. His eyes were still locked onto Swordfish II as they neared it, following its every move with a churning intensity. Finally he tore his eyes away to glance at Faye, then moved back to his side, returning full control of the steering to her. "Stay on this course, Faye," he said softly, and when she shot an incredulous glare at him, the fierce desperation in his eyes shocked her. She grabbed the controls begrudgingly, but did stay on course towards Spike's ship.

"Just what the hell are you trying to pull?" she demanded, but Spike ignored her, instead snatching up her communicator again. He switched its channel and raised it to his mouth.

"Pull back," he said into it quietly but firmly, then switched it off and once again tossed it to the side. His eyes returned to Swordfish II and he watched carefully as it slowed and did as Spike said. Faye observed in disbelief; _now_ Vicious was listening to Spike, after trying to kill him less than a week ago? Daring a glance into the cockpit of Swordfish II, she began to see the reason for the ship's unstable course: the drugs were beginning to have an effect on Vicious. Even at a distance she could see how tightly his hands were gripping the controls, so hard that his arms were trembling, and how his jaw was completely tense with concentration, and the way his eyes seemed to be having trouble staying open.

In an instant, she suddenly knew what was going on.

"Spike, tell me you aren't going to do what I think you are," she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes to the front. Receiving no answer, she shook her head. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she exclaimed, glancing at him quickly. "You think you're going to save him? _Him,_ of all people? He tried to _kill_ you, Spike! More than once! And you're going to _help_ him? Why?" For a seemingly endless moment, he gave no reply. Then:

"...Because I have to." Faye felt a strong inclination to snap back at him with something particularly vulgar, but bit her tongue and waited. Spike's eyes had become clouded, as though he was in the middle of a waking dream. "He could have killed me before. Minutes ago, and I could have killed him. But we didn't." He seemed to consider how to put more of his thought into words. "It's...like an obligation. I won't let myself see it end right in front of me. I can't."

Faye continued to shake her head. "I don't understand," she replied firmly, and Spike looked at her.

"You don't have to." His gaze returned briefly to the current pilot of his ship, to which they were coming closer and closer, and Faye could practically hear the single meaning of that glance: _He does._ He _understands._

And this royally pissed her off.

Faye's hands gripped the steering tightly for a short moment. They were nearly on top of Swordfish II now. Finally, she took a sorry attempt at a deep breath. "If you two understand each other so well," she pressed on in frustration, "then why do you hate each other so much?"

For a moment, Faye wondered if she had overstepped a boundary. A shadow seemed to pass over Spike's features while he hesitated; but as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished with the moment and he was lunkhead-Spike again, looking straight into her eyes with an expression that both fascinated and infuriated her. Going to the opposite extreme, Faye's face pulled into a suspicious frown. "...Well?"

Spike visibly paused for a moment, looking at her very oddly, as though he was actually considering the question; then, he looked directly at her. And he smiled.

Before Faye's brain had time to wrap around the expression, Spike's hand had darted around her and jabbed a button on her side of the control panel. Immediately Red Tail's dome began to retract and Spike was out of his seatbelt, out of his seat, crouching on Red Tail's rim and measuring the distance between their ship and Swordfish II. At first Faye could only gape at what he was clearly about to do, and he took the opportunity to send her a halfhearted wave. "Later."

And he jumped.

Faye's reflexes moved much faster than her voice; by the time she managed to shout "SPIKE!" at the top of her lungs, she'd already zipped in his direction with Red Tail just in time to see him perform his strange flying, flailing, flapping, falling leap onto Swordfish II's dome. Faye barely had the time to compare him to a suicidal fly on a windshield before a wave of machine-gun fire—courtesy of Sabertooth, of course—wiped the thought from her memory. "Aggh!" she finally groaned in frustration, putting Red Tail's dome back up as she sped away and out of Sabertooth's range.

* * *

Right away Spike could see that he hadn't wasted any time. A brief moment of panic brought the thought that Vicious may not even be conscious enough to retract the dome for him; but his dread was calmed when Vicious looked up, finally. His eyes met Spike's for a second, then they glanced quickly to the side and back. Spike got the message clearly and moved carefully to Swordfish II's wing; Vicious then retracted the dome, tilting the ship to the side opposite Spike, to keep the balance, and Spike clumsily pulled himself in.

With hardly a glance in Vicious' direction, Spike took hold of the controls with his good hand, making due with the newly cramped cockpit. A moment of familiarizing himself with the ship again, and they were off. Working the controls as best he could, Spike launched in the direction of the two remaining ships, his route clumsy but true.

Taking advantage of his own instability, Spike began to weave in wide arcs around each ship, slowly drawing them closer to each other. True enough, he could only use one hand, but damnit, he would put that hand to good use if it killed him.

From the corner of his eye, Spike could see the twin blurs that were Red Tail and Sabertooth as they shot past him, the Crow right on Faye's tail.

"...The back." Spike's eyes shot to his right, where Vicious had his eyes raised to follow the two ships in their cat-and-mouse engagement. Keeping his focus on them, he elaborated. "The back of the ship. Unprotected," he explained, his voice slowly beginning to weaken with each word.

His eyes returning to the front, Spike took another glance at the ships. "She tried that already," he replied lowly, keeping his eyes on his flight path.

In return, he received little more than a weary shake of the head. "Missed."

Now that he thought about it, Spike recalled that he really hadn't been paying attention at the time, having been too busy moving as far away from Faye as he could. Hell, whatever worked.

Flipping on the commlink in his ship, Spike set it to Red Tail's channel and relayed the information, then turned his full attention back to the other two ships on his hands. By now, his little tactic had done well, and the ships were in the same vicinity. Now or never.

Quickly, Spike maneuvered his way around until he was satisfied with his position. The Crow ships were fast, but they were lightweights; one shot of the plasma cannon should do the job. That decided, Spike gunned it in their direction, firing up the cannon as he went. One hit, that was all he needed.

He fired. A ship went down.

Unfortunately, it was only one. The other one got off with no more than a slightly mutilated wing, and turning away, it fled.

_Shit. Where there's one left behind, there's ten more on the way._ Honestly, Spike didn't know how much more his body would take. He could feel the crudely-stitched gash in his gut starting to bleed freely from the exertion, which he knew wasn't a good thing.

He was only brought out of his thoughts when his eye caught something plummeting from the air; looking up, he wasn't surprised at the sight of Red Tail hovering where it was for a minute as Sabertooth crashed to the ground. Knowing Faye, she was probably dolling out a last few profanities in the Crow's direction. After the few seconds had passed, Red Tail took a nosedive downward, heading straight for Hammerhead. "That all of them?" her voice suddenly crackled through the commlink.

"One got away," he replied in weary annoyance. "Probably gonna come back with Wave Tw..." He abruptly cut himself off then; he could swear he heard something, a sound that he had been trained to recognize in another life.

"Spike? What's going on?" came Faye's voice again, now with a clear note of anxiety.

At first he didn't answer as he listened again—and it was gone now...weird. Paying no more attention to it, he instead shifted his focus to the direction the last stray Crow had gone.

Once he'd done that, he half wished he hadn't. There they were, just like he'd known they would be. The reinforcements. _Damnit._

"Heads up, Faye," he finally responded, tightening his good hand on the controls, his morale sinking lower with every additional ship that appeared on the horizon. There was no way they would get out of this.

...And there it was again! This time Spike looked over toward that sound he'd heard before, and from the corner of his eye he noticed that Vicious had stiffened as well, glancing weakly in the same direction.

Vicious knew that he had a matter of minutes left before the drug in his system knocked him out. He knew that his senses were dulling by the second, his hearing included. But at the same time, he _knew_ that he was hearing it. He didn't know what it meant, or whether this would be his break or his downfall because of it, but he did know that it was there, and it was coming in their direction as fast as it could. No...not it, them. There was more than one. Spike had heard it before, and now he did again.

His chest gave a throb then, which sent a shockwave through him potent enough to make him wince. The three-day-old bulletwound had started to bleed again as soon as it was struck, which wasn't helping with anything. He could feel his body beginning to shut down. The last thing that penetrated his dulling senses as his vision went dark was an unfamiliar voice, backed by the now-deafening scream of a dozen sirens:

"Attention! Land your vehicles and step out of them immediately, by order of the ISSP!"

* * *

**VanillaRose- **o.o Don't hyperventilate! (looks around frantically, then throws you a paper bag) ...Ahem. Anyway, I'm glad you're so into it! (beams at compliments) Yes, Sabertooth is quite fun. If only I could do more than just describe it...a real one would be _such_ fun to play with. n.n And it's wonderful to hear (/read) that these scenes are as much fun to read as they were to write!

**jdchs-**(shrinks back just a bit) I know, I know, I knew when I wrote it that that cliffhanger would be evil as sin, but what can I say, my muse knows what it wants when it decides to be helpful. My lips are sealed. :X

**Shteve-**...Did I really manage to do that in only one sentence? o.O (goes to look) o.o Huh. How about that. Cool. XD Kidding, kidding...I heart Jet, you know that...then again I _do_ tend to do bad things to the characters I like the most...hmmm. .

**phoenix521-**I love that you're enjoying all this so much! I do agree with at least one thing: tension is definitely what these last few chapters have revolved around. Action sequences are fun, though. Hope you're still enjoying!

**Bob the barbarian-**You're a very unique individual, you know that? n.n Anyway, I'm sensing a little hostility towards Vicious, based on this and another of your reviews...but anyway, sorry, can't tell ya what's in store. Glad you're still entertained, though. :)


	15. Don't Bother None

Disclaimer: (sigh) The end is near, and yet here I am, writing disclaimers...

A/N: After this chapter, there's only one more! T.T

* * *

Chapter 14: Don't Bother None 

Faye was pretty sure that she was in shock. This had to be shock, right? That had to be why she couldn't stop pacing asround the waiting room of Tharsis Medical right now, waiting to find out if either of them were alive. She'd taken to nervously chewing on her lip somewhere in the process, which she only now noticed, and stopped with an exasperated sigh. Damnit, she HATED being worried! They owed her big time for turning her into a basket case like this! As if the ISSP hadn't given her enough of a heart attack as it was...

From the moment of their arrival, it had felt like time had tripled its pace. Suddenly the approaching Crows were surrounded by police vehicles, and an ambulance was landing next to Hammerhead, paramedics rushing out almost before it stopped moving. Faye hadn't been able to do anything more than gape; the last thing she'd expected was an intervention. Or a cavalry, depending on how one looks at it. As far as she could tell, Spike was speechless too. Then again, he might have just finally passed out. She couldn't tell then.

"Keep going like that, and we'll have to pay for the floor, too." Faye paused in her pacing—she hadn't even realized she had started up again—at the voice of Bob, or as she had first recognized him, 'that cop.' They exchanged looks for a moment, then Faye wordlessly sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning her elbows on the back of her chair, while Bob took a seat at a respectful distance, two chairs down. Almost immediately, Faye's foot started to tap nervously in the air. Bob eyed her with faint amusement before turning to the electronic clipboard he'd been given, with the task of putting in Jet's information. Luckily enough, he still had it from when Jet had belonged to the ISSP.

For a moment, they were silent, Faye subtly observing as he transferred the information. Then she moved her gaze back to Bob, looking at him a bit questioningly.

"What?" he asked after another moment, keeping his eyes on the clipboard. Faye glanced down briefly.

"Nothing...just..." her eyes moved back up, "...you're really doing all this—grabbing a bunch of guys to save our lives, paying for all the hospital bills—all for Jet? Just because he was in the force with you?"

Bob gave a slow shake of the head. "I owed him one."

"_Everyone_ owes him for something or other," she retorted, unconvinced. "Not everyone would go _this_ far."

That made Bob give pause for a second, looking up from the clipboard and toward the ceiling. Then he turned his eyes to her. "He would," he finally answered, shrugging as if to say that that's just how it was.

The silence following his simple statement was broken then, with the footsteps of the medic who had taken Jet. Both of them stood up at once, instantly alert, eyes intent on the doctor's facial expression.

Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, he addressed Bob first, as he was the one he knew. "I've seen some crazy things in my time," he said with a slight drawl, "but it's been a while since a patient of mine's slipped on by like your friend has. He's got some kinda luck on his side."

Bob's eyes sparked to life, but he remained tense, as if hesitant to take the chance that he was interpreting it wrong. "Yeah. So you think he'll make it?"

The immediate nod in answer to his question made both listeners seem to deflate with relief. "Oh, yeah. S'like I said," the medic continued. "Pure luck. He got hit with two of the blades you were talking about, but they didn't hit anything vital. Just caught him in the arm and grazed his side. The bullet was what had us worried, but he's past the worst of it. Should be waking up later tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Thank GOD!" Faye suddenly burst out, her hands balling into fists as if she was ready to stalk right into his hospital room. "I have got one HELL of a bone to pick with him when he does!" Ignoring the odd looks she was getting from both men, she quickly switched gears, now that she had the doctor's attention. "Do you know about anyone else?" she continued, the adrenaline now pumping.

"Ah...lemme think..." the doctor replied, scratching his head. "Yeah, right. The guy with the green fuzzball on his head ended up passing out on the way here, not surprising, if I remember his symptoms right. Should be awake pretty soon. And the other one, that John Doe case..." at that, Faye shot Bob a glance, but the cop kept his eyes forward, "...Somehow, he got a hell of a dose of some heavy sedative. A _hell_ of a dose. We haven't id'd it yet, so all we could do was get some charcoal in him to absorb some of it. We don't wanna risk drugging him up with anything else, so for now, it's just up to time."

Bob nodded his assent, stonefaced from the moment "John Doe" was mentioned. "So when can they go?"

"For the first two? I'd say a night or two, long as there's someone who'll be there with 'em. Make sure they take it slow." A quick glance in Faye's direction, and he went on. "For the other one, I can't say 'til we've figured out what got in his system. Should know that by tomorrow, then we can give you a straight answer."

"Alright. Thanks." With a nod to each of them, the doctor disappeared into the hall, while Bob went to give the clipboard to the receptionist, leaving Faye suddenly on her own in the middle of the waiting room. Frowning, she turned on her heel after Bob, catching him once he was out of hearing range of the receptionist.

"Isn't there some kind of cop-rule about lying for crime-lords?" she challenged with a raised eyebrow. Flashing her a quick, affronted look, he all but scowled at the ground.

"Yeah. There is. And for the record, I'm not the first one to break it." Seeming to quickly get over the moment of offense, he slowly shook his head, letting out his breath. "It was a special request from Jet. He left a message with the day and time, and tagged it on the end. Don't know why. Spent three days with the guy and decides he's safe enough to walk. Never said I knew how his brain works. Just said I owed him."

"Vicious is a _killer_," Faye argued, frowning at the floor. "He isn't...isn't _human_. He's—"

"Half dead." Bob's interjection prompted her to look up again. For the life of her, she couldn't tell a thing from his face about his opinion on Vicious. "Could be out of our hands tomorrow, for all we know. 'Til then, I'm keepin' him off my mind." With that, he seemed to decide that he was done with this conversation, and returned silently to his chair.

Faye stood where she was for several moments after, boring a glare into the ground that could have cut through steel. He was right, of course; accepting things was all they could do right now. Faye Valentine had _never_ been a fan of accepting things she didn't like. She liked it even less when it was the only option.

But then, lately she was beginning to see that that was how it was. Things would happen that she didn't like. Things that would make her want to scream, or...put five bulletholes in Jet's ceiling, for instance. Things that she wouldn't be able to change. And she was now beginning to understand that even if she had to step aside for a while, that it didn't mean the world had forgotten her, or that she was useless.

There was still somewhere that she belonged.

* * *

Several hours, stitches and injections later, the hospital finally released the three patients into Faye's care. This wasn't something she was ecstatically happy about; she had so many pills and instructions to keep track of that it made her head spin. Thankfully, Bob had come to the rescue again, to a point. He at least had enough pity on her to help her get them back to the Bebop. She sure as hell didn't want to carry them in; even though all of them had regained consciousness at some point, it was in short bursts, and now they were so drugged up on painkillers that she doubted they could stay on their feet, much less walk straight. 

Well, at least Faye only had Spike to deal with on the way back; it had been a miracle that she had ever managed to cram all three of them into her tiny ship, and police vehicles were naturally roomier. She and Bob had also agreed that it was best to keep Spike and Vicious away from each other for now, despite the little ceasefire that seemed to be in effect between them. It all worked out pretty well, actually; not only did Faye NEVER want Vicious on her ship again if she could help it, but Bob wanted to keep an eye on him. He had explained to her that yes, they were pretending they didn't know anything about him now, but that in the future, if he even _looked_ like he was thinking about committing a crime, they would be there, no holds barred.

They managed to get everyone back to the Bebop without too much grief, retiring Spike and Jet to their rooms, and Vicious to the couch. Both Ed and Ein were overjoyed at their arrival, and it took much insistence from Faye and, finally, a whine from Ein to convince Ed that quiet would be a good thing just then.

Once everyone had finally gotten settled again, Bob took his leave with a tip of his hat, and Faye went into her room and quite literally collapsed. She'd known coming to the rescue would be hard, but she hadn't expected it to be _this_ tiring. Glancing at the clock, she saw that there was plenty of time before she had the oh-so-glamorous task of waking everyone up to take their medication. What was she, a nursemaid!

Well. Until then, she decided, she would get herself some nice, long beauty-rest while the ship was quiet. Just _let_ them try and deprive her of _that._

* * *

Alright. He was alive. After spending God knows how long drifting in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of white walls and blurred faces, Jet at least knew that much. He was alive. 

For a while, he hadn't been so sure. He remembered a glint of silver and a _crunch_ that could not have been good, and had wondered if that was going to be it. It was only when one bout of consciousness lasted longer than the others, giving him time to notice the twin aches in his side and his arm and a chance to look around, that he started to put things together. He was in a hospital. If he was in a hospital, he wasn't dead yet. And since he wasn't seeing any tunnels or white lights, he guessed that he wasn't going to be dying anytime soon.

And now, he was back on his ship, he observed as he began to reluctantly let go of sleep. He was back on his ship, he still ached all over, and there was someone else in his room.

His brain at first only noticed the last detail in passing, as he was still trying to wake up. Then he thought about it again, and woke up a hell of a lot quicker. His first instinct was to sit up, but he quickly rethought that and chose instead to see just who was trying to scare the hell out of him.

From where he leaned against the wall across the room, Spike's eyes glinted with faint amusement. "Hey."

"Hey." Jet had to blink a couple times for his brain to catch up with the wake-up call, then he eyed Spike skeptically. "You supposed to be up?"

"Not really." Spike waited in silence for Jet to painstakingly push himself into a semi-sitting position, his eyes wandering off to some corner of the room.

"...What is it?" Jet asked at length, already a bit winded from even that much movement. Damned syndicates. His leg wasn't enough for them?

His arm resting absently over his midsection, Spike glanced up again. "Not trying to push," he replied calmly, "but I think you've got a story to tell."

Jet stared at him for a second, then chuckled slightly in spite of himself. "Yeah. Guess I do."

* * *

Five minutes. Five measly minutes! That was the staggering length of time that Faye spent on the nap that she had so yearned for, because that was how long it took for her to notice that Ed was being abnormally quiet. And that the last time she had seen her, she was in the living room. 

With _him_ in it.

So, predictably, her nap had ended there, with Faye jumping out of bed and sprinting for the main room, all the while cursing her damned womanly instincts.

Practically skidding around the corner and into the room, Faye stared for a moment, then nearly groaned aloud at the sight she was met with. Vicious was still unconscious, and Ed wasn't dead; but instead, she was sleeping in a catlike position, curled up right at his feet. Or, more accurately, right _on_ them.

_AHHH! This is the sort of thing that **Jet** is supposed to deal with!_ Faye's mind screeched in despair. She considered getting him up to take care of it, but immediately felt almost cheap for even thinking about it, considering how he had almost **died** not so long ago. _Damnit...!_

"Edward!" she hissed through her teeth, keeping her feet rooted to the floor where she stood. No way in hell was she getting closer to that guy than she had to. However, Ed continued to sleep soundly, completely oblivious. Faye felt her eyebrow twitch in annoyance. "Ed!" she tried again, in a sharp whisper. This time, she got some semblance of a response.

"Whaaaat, Faye-Faaaaaye...?" Ed mumbled sleepily, shifting a little and nearly giving Faye a coronary.

"What do you mean, 'what!' Get off of him!" Faye ordered in response, trying to keep her voice low but starting to lose her patience.

"Whyyyy...Ed is not hurting anyoooooo—"

"**Edward!**"

"Alright, alright..." Hardly opening her eyes, Ed slowly slid off of the couch, then curled up again right where she was. It took twice her weight in self-discipline for Faye to keep from slapping herself in the forehead.

"No, Ed..." she corrected the young hacker through clenched teeth. "I need you _out_ of the room. Just...go in Spike's room or something!"

Ed's face pulled into a pout. "Noooo...Ed likes Person-person..."

"ARRGH!" Completely fed up, her fears momentarily left in the dust, Faye marched over to Ed, picking her up and setting her on her feet. One of Ed's eyes lazily opened, and Faye pointed dynamically toward the the hall, her arm sticking straight out from her body. "Out," she commanded through her teeth, remembering once more to keep her voice low.

With a weary sigh, Ed reluctantly turned around, stumbling into the hall. "Faye-Faye looks scary sometimes..."

At that, Faye's outstretched arm dropped lifelessly to her side. That was an insult. Ed had just...! _No, Faye, we **don't** hurt the children...deep breaths...cigarette. Yes. Wonderful idea._ All too willing to begin with her de-stressing plan, Faye turned toward the balcony to have a smoke; but she caught a glimpse of something then that made her freeze, her eyes widening slightly as they locked with another pair.

He was awake. Damnit, damnit, damnit, he was awake! And from the look of it, he had been for a while...what was she supposed to do now!

Several seconds passed them before Vicious finally seemed to have seen all he cared to, and silently began to look away. As though she'd been set free, Faye abruptly turned away from him then, paying no attention to the rapid pace of her heart as she went onto the balcony and shut the door firmly behind her, with every intention of smoking her lungs black.

* * *

Just from looking at him, Jet couldn't quite tell what Spike was thinking about as he listened to the end of the explanation. He was pretty sure he had seen a hint of amusement at some points, which served well to balance the shadow that settled over him at others. To the relief of Jet's mind, Spike had eventually given in and eased himself down to sit against the wall shortly after Jet began, giving his body a much-needed break. 

With a glance at the clock, Jet was surprised at how much time had passed without Spike falling asleep or zoning out on him. Granted, Vicious _was_ a sensitive subject for Spike.

...Well. And he was probably still a little drugged up. He didn't doubt that that likely had something to do with it too.

"...So. Now what?" Spike finally asked after a long silence, his eyes fastened to the spot where one of the bed's legs met the floor.

Jet cracked a weak grin. "Actually, I was gonna ask you that." Brief pause. "...He said he didn't plan on doing anything yet," Jet went on. "I don't know how far I can trust him on that, but..." Spike put a stop to his words with a slow shake of the head.

"Don't worry about it," he said at length, his voice shifting slightly as it always seemed to do when his past was conjured. A knowing calm manifested itself in his eyes, and he was quiet for several moments. Then a slow half-grin crept across his lips, and using the wall as a support, he pushed himself to his feet and grasped the door handle. "Got anything to eat here?" he asked lazily as he pulled open the door.

Jet's face was unreadable for a moment, before it relaxed into a knowing smirk. "There's some bellpeppers in the fridge. Don't eat 'em all, we're running low." Spike waved a hand in assent as he left in the direction of the kitchen, swinging the door shut behind him. Jet didn't even try to hide his elation, sinking back against his bed, almost giddy with relief. They'd done it. It had been hard, it had been hell, but they'd done it.

They had brought him home.

* * *

To my indomitably exceptional reviewers: 

**VanillaRose-**Ou...out-of...character? (starts to hyperventilate) ...Oh, wait. VanilllaRose says it's okay. Good, I don't need to have a nervous breakdown now. XD So glad you liked the 'Spike-but-not-quite' characterization. That scene was kinda tricky, so thanks for the encouragement! n.n

**jdchs-**And that is in fact a very good question...one that, unfortunately, can't be answered until the last chapter, which—alas!—is coming sooner than I'd expected it to... T.T

**Shteve-** :X Not tellin', not tellin', glad you liked it n.n, not tellin'.

**phoenix521-**Your enthusiasm makes my day:D Breathing is good though. In moderation. ;) I really love your review...

**Bob the barbarian-**Wondrous, huh? Cool. n.n I do agree that Vicious is a very interesting guy to analyze. That's what makes him fun to write for. :)

**Vicous-**Hmm, you think? Well, I hope that isn't tainting the experience for you...I see Vicious as a character that's very open to interpretation, based on how little we get in his head in the series. Either way, I'm glad you're still sticking with this fic to the end. :)


	16. Farewell Blues

Disclaimer: ...Y'know what? It's the last chapter, and I am utterly out of semi-witty disclaimers. So for the record, I don't own Bebop. But I'd like to. Ohh, would I like to...

A/N: I really wasn't sure to refer to this last one as a chapter or an epilogue. In the end I just went with 'chapter,' just because the song title worked so well (n.n) ; but just be warned that the length of this one would count as that of an epilogue. Pretty short, but hopefully, it will not disappoint. :)

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Chapter 15: Farewell Blues

From the moment the slam of the door behind Faye reached his ears, Vicious began to watch the days pass in a nearly unbroken silence. He spoke when he had to, but no more. Throughout the time he remained on the ship, unable to do anything else in his condition, all he had exchanged with Spike was one lingering glance.

One thing that Vicious did have on his side was that he was a fast healer. It didn't take long for his injuries to improve, now that they were being properly cared for; and the nearer he came to getting back on his feet, the more necessary it was becoming for him to make a few decisions.

Though he didn't care to think about Jericho Slaine any more than he had to, the Crow had made one good point: the Red Dragon syndicate was dead. His every goal had revolved around his clan, for better or worse, and now that he no longer had that, it looked like he would have to make some alterations to his plans. It wasn't something he had prepared himself for. That made things difficult.

What he did know was that no matter what he decided, nothing could move forward for as long as he stayed on this ship. Not here, with Spike only footsteps away, and the woman who he seemed to put on edge just by being there. Not with Jet and his lingering ISSP mentality, whether he knew it still existed or not, and not with the child who defied all reason. He did not belong to this world, nor did he desire to. He could do nothing while he was here.

It was with that in mind that, after hours upon hours of regaining his strength, Vicious moved silently onto the deck of the Bebop to get his bearings. The night air was his only company as he looked over the water in all directions. The first stop would have to be at his apartment near what was once the HQ, to pick up his ship—the Dragons had had full control over the establishment, and he doubted that anyone would have moved it yet. Once there, it was a matter of deciding what came after.

Then his deliberations came to a slow pause, and he straightened up ever so slightly, his hands remaining fisted in the pockets of his trench coat. His eyes cleared and sharpened as they looked upon the water. "You've stumbled," he stated quietly, after a moment. He was answered with silence. Unmoving, he continued. "It was inevitable. After sleepwalking for so long, you could only falter on the last step."

"You're one to talk about the inevitable," came Spike's low reply from where he stood at the entryway, half-draped in shadow. "You threw a wrench in your 'destiny' theory."

Vicious' gaze lowered, focusing for a moment on the two moons' reflections on the water below. "It was also yours."

He could almost feel Spike's eyes narrow in his direction. "I would have let it go," he replied, his voice calm, but harboring a thousand accusations. Vicious lifted his gaze once more as Spike went on. "It was yours to begin with."

"Is that what you think." Finally Vicious turned, soundly meeting Spike's eyes. "Why did you go back?"

"You know why." Spike's expression was growing darker before his eyes. "She's _dead_ because of you."

"_I_ didn't kill her, Spike."

For a long moment they were silent, their voices stolen by the night wind. There were no grim smirks this time, no knowing repartees exchanged as their eyes challenged one another. Those were reserved for the game. This time, the silence was only broken when a police vehicle flew by overhead, causing them both to shift their attention on instinct.

Once it was out of sight, Vicious returned his gaze to the front to find that Spike's eyes still followed the path the ship had taken.

"...They're doing Jet a favor," Spike finally said, his eyes unmoving. "Disappear, and they'll be watching for you."

"That won't be a problem." Vicious turned his head in the direction of the nearby dock. Eying it carefully, he could see that getting back to his own ship wouldn't be difficult if he stayed hidden. He knew enough hidden routes through Tharsis City that the keenest eye wouldn't know he had been there. Now that he thought about it, though, the bit of warning Spike was giving him could prove to be useful. Deciding where to go would be much simpler if all he had to do was disappear.

Disappear...yes. That was his answer, until the path became clear again. Until he was ready again.

Until both of them were.

Turning back around, Vicious sent a quick look to Spike before approaching the doorway he stood in. Spike watched his every move, but when Vicious grew near, he stayed where he was, blocking the way. Once he was within an arm's reach, Vicious stopped and met Spike's unwavering gaze, and they read each other quietly for a time. Spike's expression barely shifted when he drew breath again, to give life to only two words. "Then what?"

It took a bit of effort to push back the faint smirk that attempted to cross Vicious' lips. Yes, that was the question. Vicious' were not the only plans that had gone awry; and it wouldn't be as easy for Spike to just disappear. He had crossed that bridge long ago. Now, faced with yet another chance, he knew no more than Vicious about just how to go about living again.

_Then what?..._

Finally, he spoke his answer, indulging Spike slightly by speaking his language, the motto that had endured through two lifetimes. "Whatever happens."

Spike held his frigid gaze in silence as the seconds passed, his eyes both guarded and oddly candid at once. Then, finally, he slowly stepped aside. "Guess so," he answered quietly as Vicious passed him by. One last glance was exchanged between them in passing, to which Spike managed to give a slow nod, cementing a silent agreement. A cease-fire. For now.

Once Vicious had passed, he didn't look back. Spike didn't watch him go, instead moving toward the rail where Vicious had stood, and looking out upon the still water. Faintly he heard the echo of another door opening and shutting in the Bebop, undoubtedly the one that led to the dock. After that, he didn't listen for footsteps. He knew he wouldn't hear them.

Spike hadn't been out there for ten minutes when a different set of footsteps reached his ears, coming toward him and slowing to a stop closeby.

"He gone?" came Jet's voice, its calm steadiness sounding misplaced in the company of the uneven steps that preceded it. He was answered with silence, which he could only take for a yes. Supporting himself on the rail, Jet gave a small 'hmph' of assent. "Guess you probably saw it comin'," he said, looking absently at his hands, then toward the horizon. "Question is what a guy like him is gonna do, now that he's got to decide for himself."

"Disappear." Spike remained motionless when Jet looked over at him, then slowly came to life, tilting his head upward to look at the stars. "Guys like him...they disappear."

* * *

From his first step away from Spike to the last step out of the harbor, Vicious didn't look back. There was nothing holding him back as he slipped into the shadows, walking silently toward the beginning. His eyes looked steadily forward as he vaulted the fence that separated the harbor district and the city that, for a matter of hours, had been his alone.

All that was gone now, and he would not look back on that any more than he was looking back now. The past was no more than that, and the future had been interwoven with his plan; but now, thanks to fate alone, that plan was thrown to the wind. His only path was forward.

In another life, not knowing was, to him, the basest form of weakness. Now, however, it brought a slow smirk to his face as he neared his destination. _I don't know, Spike. _His eyes fixing on the ground before him, the smirk widened a little. _I have no idea._

Then what? It was certainly the question. And right now, strangely enough, he found that he really didn't care to know the answer. It didn't matter anymore.

Whatever happened, would happen.

_**MOVE AHEAD, LAY DOWN DEAD, OR SLIP ON BY...**_

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Well, my beloved readers and reviewers, this is the end! I must say it's come a long way since June of '02. This fic took up the better part of three years of my life, surviving three epiphanies and at least four rewrites, so I hope you've all enjoyed it! Thanks so much for sticking with me until the end. You guys all rock!

Next writing project: I have no idea. Any suggestions are welcome. :)


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